


Obligate

by Thalius



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka Tano Needs a Hug, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin Fakes His Own Death Instead of Obi-Wan, Assassination Attempt(s), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hardeen Arc AU, Lightsabers, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, POV Multiple, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25437373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thalius/pseuds/Thalius
Summary: "How do you do it?" she said into his chest, her voice muffled in his rumpled robes. "How do you go on without your Master?"Obi-Wan's breath hitched again. He didn't respond to her for several minutes, only holding her. They should probably get off the tarmac, but she would die from grief if she pulled away from him right now."You wait it out until you can finally bear it," he eventually replied. It wasn't the answer she wanted, but there probably wasn't any other. She tried to picture Obi-Wan waiting around and doing nothing. She tried to picture herself doing the same thing.Ahsoka sobbed again.Emotions did not hold sway over the ability of Jedi.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano
Comments: 87
Kudos: 651





	Obligate

**Author's Note:**

> Based off [this tumblr post](https://oriyala.tumblr.com/post/621477904289792000/an-au-where-anakin-fakes-his-death-tell-me). If you missed the tags, the tl;dr is that this is an AU for the Deception Arc in Clone Wars (4x15 - 4x18) where Anakin fakes his own death instead of Obi-Wan, with a lot more hugging and emotional resolution involved. I've simplified a few parts for better flow, but this follows the Hardeen plot relatively faithfully otherwise.
> 
> Also, small warning: Anakin coughs up the voice modulator near the end of the fic by sticking a finger into his mouth, so there's a short description of that, but nothing graphic.

Her hands were not supposed to tremble. She was supposed to be strong, and sure; she was supposed to be steady when everyone else around her faltered. Emotions did not hold sway over the ability of Jedi. But the pulse at Anakin's throat was still, and nothing in all her training had prepared her for this.

"Please," she whispered, knowing it would do nothing; not knowing what else to do. She had pulled back his robes from his neck, loosened his tunic. She had done chest compressions; she had felt for him in the Force. Only silence had answered her. Silence and stillness. "Master—"

The claxon of police sirens steadily grew louder on their approach. Anyone who had not ran at the sound of sniper fire became onlookers now, all of them throbbing with fear—and curiosity. The scene in the alleyway was an interesting novelty for them, something they would walk away from and tell their friends about later. She wanted to scream at all of them to leave. Anakin didn't deserve to be a news headline. And he wouldn't be, because he couldn't be dead, he wasn't supposed to be—

"Ahsoka!"

Rushing up from behind, she felt and heard Obi-Wan. He slid to a stop beside her, a hand on her shoulder, the other pressed to Anakin's chest. Relief flooded her. He would know what to do. He always knew what to do.

"Please," she said again, reaching for him, hating that she could barely force the words out. "He's—he's not—"

She watched him rip open Anakin's robes properly, exposing the standard issue body armour all Jedi were supposed to wear beneath them. A giant dent puckered the plate, right over Anakin's heart. It hadn't pierced the steel; it hadn't needed to.

He gave her a wild look, mouth parted as if to speak, but no words came out. It made her hands shake harder. Obi-Wan wasn't calm at all.

Ahsoka's breath came out in a hiccup as she tried to explain. "I did—I did compressions while you were—I thought he'd just lost consciousness, but he isn't—he hasn't—"

Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin's jaw and tilted it up, fingers pressing to his neck to find a pulse that was not there. There was no need for it, she thought. Couldn't he feel how bleak the air was? The void where Anakin's presence was meant to be? "No," he finally breathed, his movements becoming frantic. "Anakin—"

His hands were shaking, too. He bled anguish beside her, cold and intense and throbbing with panic. Obi-Wan didn't know what to do.

"No," he kept saying, shaking his former Padawan, as if will alone would jolt him awake. "No, no, you're not—you're not supposed to—"

Anakin still didn't stirr. The wound in the air where he was supposed to be made no sound. All she could feel was the shape of his absence, a lack too large to breathe or think around.

Her hand tightened on Obi-Wan's arm, hard enough to draw blood beneath his robes. He bowed his head, forehead pressing to Anakin's chest. His shoulders shook. Emotions were not supposed to hold sway over the ability of Jedi.

. . .

The ice water did not ground him as he hoped it would; all it did was make his stomach turn. He nodded thanks to the paramedic for it anyway, and set the cup aside when the man walked out of sight.

Obi-Wan stared down at Anakin's lightsaber, tight in his grip. It was the only thing they'd allowed him to retrieve from the crime scene, and only after significant badgering. The hilt gleamed under the glow of the streetlamps, the steel flickering with the strobing red of police lights. If he concentrated, he could hear the crystal humming within it, weeping.

He remembered Qui-Gon's doing the same. His Master's own saber was still in his office, set on a mantle. It should have been entombed with him, and yet the Council had permitted Obi-Wan the indulgence to keep it. Would Anakin's sit beside it now? How many more lightsabers would he have to collect?

Glancing over at the street corner, the vice around his ribs threatened to shatter him.

Ahsoka had not said a word. She took up as little space as possible on the ground, curling into a ball and refusing to sit anywhere else. He'd gotten her away from the crime scene to allow the forensic team to move in, but she had staked a claim on the sidewalk curb and had not moved since. There was a blanket around her shoulders, but it hadn't stopped her from shivering.

Obi-Wan wiped at his face for the dozenth time and looked back down—this time at his commlink. There was always so much paperwork involved in a death. Half a dozen calls had already been made, and still more required his attention. The one that weighed heaviest on his mind was a call to the Temple. Master Yoda must be informed of what happened, but he was in no state to speak with him. He wasn't sure if he ever would be.

His finger, instead, hovered over Cody's name. The commander was low on the list of people who needed to be told; he hadn't even spoken with Rex yet. But each repetition of the words _Anakin is dead_ took something out of him that he would not get back, and he was having trouble holding together what was left of himself. He desperately needed to tell someone that didn't need to know.

He also needed to go to Ahsoka. The tenor and shape of her Force register was painfully sharp, her grief sticking out of her like spines. He'd kept her away while he'd spoken with the police, with the coroner and the Temple Guard, so that she wouldn't have to hear what was happening. She needed no reminders of what had become of her Master.

And he knew, with a horrible pit of shame, that his own panic frightened her. He was hardly calm now, but he was drained enough that his presence wouldn't send her into hysterics anymore.

With everything left in him, he pushed himself off the stoop of the ambulance and walked over to her, grabbing the cup of water as an afterthought. Anakin's saber found a spot on his belt, next to his own, heavy and imposing.

Ahsoka didn't move at his approach, but he felt her reach out for him in the air. It was a final, desperate plea for reassurance, and it was one he could not respond to. He sat beside her instead, and swallowed down the ache in his throat.

She tipped in his direction, her face finding his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her back and scooted her closer. She quivered against him, but she made no sound. "Keep your arms and legs loose," he whispered gently, trying to unfold her from the vicious knot she'd tied herself up in. "You'll hurt yourself."

Stiffly, she let her legs stretch out in front of her, and her hands folded uselessly into her lap. He held out the water for her, but she shook her head, pushing it away. The plastic cup made a hollow sound when he set it down beside him.

"I want to…." Ahsoka swallowed and squeezed her eyes closed. "How long will they keep him there?"

Obi-Wan did not look back. They'd tarped off the alleyway by now, but if he didn't look, perhaps the bleeding rip in the Force only meant Anakin wasn't right here, right now. "I don't know," he said truthfully. "As long as it takes to process… what happened."

"I want to see him again," she told him, sounding so agonisingly young and small that he thought his heart would break once more.

"You will," he whispered.

"When?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. "At the funeral."

Her breath came out in wrenching sobs then, and he joined her, pressing his face to her head, holding her steady. The calls could wait a while longer.

. . .

It was dawn when they finally returned to the Temple. Ahsoka had fallen asleep on the ride back, but she jolted awake when they landed, and reality was there to confront her immediately, cruel and unyielding. Her Master was dead. _Anakin_ was dead.

"We'll liaise with the Coruscant police force," one of the Temple Guard officers told Obi-Wan. He had his helmet on, but she could feel his disquiet at seeing Master Kenobi so rattled. She could hear it in his voice, too. "I'll keep you updated on when the, er, body will be released, sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Obi-Wan's voice was flat, without inflection or flair. It was so foreign it barely sounded like him.

But then his hand was on her arm, tugging her up off the seat, and she had to concentrate on walking instead of listening. His earlier advice had been sound; even curled up on the transport bench for that short trip made her legs stiff and sore, and she had to hang onto him to work the feeling back in her calves as they stepped onto the landing platform.

They stood and watched the transport take off, wheeling into the sky and moving back towards the streets of Coruscant. It felt oddly final, even more so than the ride here. There was no way of getting back to Anakin now, with them gone.

"Ahsoka…."

She turned to face Obi-Wan, terrified of what she found. He looked a thousand years old, and there was no trace of humour or hope in his eyes. Her chin scrunched as her mouth flattened into a line, trying to wrestle for control of her voice.

"I have to—" She took a breath. "I still have to tell Rex. I don't know if… if I can…."

"I'll go with you," he murmured. His hand hadn't left her arm. It was the only thing anchoring her in place. She covered it with one of her own.

"You've already done everything else," Ahsoka whispered. There was no space left in her to feel guilt, but she knew she should be ashamed. "I've just sat around and cried."

His free hand grabbed her other arm, pulling her attention back to him. "Ahsoka," he said, voice surprisingly forceful. It still didn't rise above a whisper, but there was finally something in his eyes besides shock. "You are sixteen years old."

"It's not an excuse on the battlefield," she said back. He didn't respond to that; he just pulled her into his arms again, and she clung to him. Like a helpless little girl.

His beard scratched her head where he laid his cheek, and she heard the hitch in his chest as he tried to stifle another wave of sobs. Aside from watching Anakin die on the ground, Obi-Wan crying was the most distressing thing to happen tonight. Or last night, now, she thought as the sun began to filter weakly over the jagged city skyline. She'd already existed for several hours in a world without Anakin.

"How do you do it?" she said into his chest, her voice muffled in his rumpled robes. "How do you go on without your Master?"

His breath hitched again. He didn't respond to her for several minutes, only holding her. They should probably get off the tarmac, but she would die from grief if she pulled away from him right now.

"You wait it out until you can finally bear it," he eventually replied. It wasn't the answer she wanted, but there probably wasn't any other. She tried to picture Obi-Wan waiting around and doing nothing. She tried to picture herself doing the same thing.

Ahsoka sobbed again.

. . .

The gardens offered him no solace, even as he sat in the grass. There was a gulf in the Force, and no amount of well-tended flowerbeds could fill that canyon.

He couldn't help but pick at it, worrying the edges with his mind. Its void did not feel like Qui-Gon's had. Anakin's absence was not empty; it was silent. Whatever shadow it held within could not be perceived. It was like trying to catch smoke in his palm. Obi-Wan didn't know what it meant, but he wasn't foolish enough to hope it was anything good.

Inhale, hold, exhale. Breathing exercises also did nothing to ease the agony in his ribs, in his throat and in his head. He tried desperately to search for the same centre he'd found when Qui-Gon had died, but it did not reveal itself to him. There was a cloud that hung over everything, too thick to rise above and too cloying to see through.

And yet he knew this loss was different in every way. Padawans prepared for the eventual deaths of their Masters, but to outlive one's own Padawan was a failure too extreme to contemplate.

"May I sit with you?"

His shoulders sunk even as he looked up. Obi-Wan drew in breath again. If there were ever an opportunity to be impolite to his fellow Jedi, now was the time. But he hesitated still. He could not push people away and sink into himself. Too many of them needed him in the present.

"Of course," he said, forcing the words out. Beside him, Master Plo knelt in the grass, hands settling on his legs. As intrusions went, Obi-Wan was thankful it was him.

"Ahsoka is resting," Plo began in quiet, gravel tones. "She's calmer now."

"Thank you for looking after her," Obi-Wan whispered. "I was... feeling overwhelmed."

"As well you should," Plo said gently. He ran a palm through the grass in front of him, making it rustle. "How was your talk with Master Yoda?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. "Brief."

Plo nodded, and did not prod. Instead he offered a piece of his own serenity, softly nudged and eagerly accepted. It gave Obi-Wan enough strength to fill his lungs with breath, and his exhale came easy this time.

"Thank you," he whispered again. Something that could be called humour coloured his voice. "I think I'll be saying that to you quite often from now on."

_From now on._ How easy it was to speak of this new future.

Plo's hand brushed his shoulder, and he looked up. Another nudge of serenity was offered to him, strong and true.

"There's no need," he said quietly. Obi-Wan nodded, patting his hand. It fell away after a moment.

He swallowed, trying to find some centre. The closest he could come to was thinking of Ahsoka. "How is she faring?" he asked, not needing to specify who.

"She insisted on barracking with the 501st," Plo told him. "She didn't want to sleep alone."

Obi-Wan nodded. The conversation with Rex had been the most difficult one. None of them had kept their composure, not even him, and it had left him completely spent afterwards.

Beyond the misery of it all, it also left him with a good deal of work to do. He hated that his thoughts lingered on the strategic cost of this loss—that the entire 501st would be grounded for several days to grieve their general and wait to either be shuffled to another battalion or inherit a provisional commanding officer. He didn't know which outcome was worse, both for the men and for the GAR's operational planning going forward. Anakin's death had left mass chaos in its wake, and in more ways than one. He couldn't think of anything more quintessentially Skywalker than that.

The thought almost made him laugh.

When he looked up to ask Plo if he'd heard anything from the Temple Guard, he realised the man had left, and likely some time ago. The grass had even sprung back from the imprint he'd made in it. Obi-Wan was alone again.

. . .

"If you can't go, I won't go."

Ahsoka rocked on the bed as she watched Rex clip on his armour. It felt like all she did was rock around uselessly now.

He gave her an anguished look. "You can't miss the general's funer—you can't miss it," he corrected himself, his throat working. He glanced away, fingers busy securing the buckles on one of his cuisses.

"You can't either!" she shouted back. Jesse looked at her, but he didn't tell her to quiet down. "None of you should."

"They can't fit us all in the Temple," Fives said across from her, seated on another bunk, but he didn't look happy about it either. None of them looked happy about anything.

"Then have it outside. Have it—" She clenched her teeth. "I don't know. But sending you away…."

"We're needed where we're needed," Rex said diplomatically. He still didn't look at her.

She stopped rocking on the bunk, fuming at how calm he seemed. "Why aren't you angry about this? Doesn't it bother you?" Ahsoka demanded, hands balling into fists. Aside from the initial shock of the news, Rex had barely reacted. It was like he'd already accepted this was how things were now, and everyone might as well get on with it.

But at her words, he stopped fiddling with his gear and looked up at her—his eyes were fixed in a glare. "Yes, it bothers me," he said slowly, evenly, as if it took a great effort. "But there's no use complaining about it."

"Well I'm going to complain!" Ahsoka wiped at her face with a fist, amazed she had any fluid left in her body to cry out. "For all of you. It's so—humiliating. Stupid. Like you don't matter. It's not fair that I get emergency leave and you don't."

"Well, we aren't Jedi," Fives muttered. She heard the resentment in his tone, and Rex shot him a hard look that was missed entirely, since Fives was busy tying his boots.

"That's right, we're clones," Rex said, making Fives look up. "Our job isn't to grieve. It's to fight."

The door to their barracks opened, interrupting their conversation. Obi-Wan entered, followed by Cody. The commander had been glued to his side for the past two days.

"General," Rex said, his back straightening. "I wasn't expecting you."

"I know. Apologies for barging in," Obi-Wan replied, loud enough to be heard outside of their immediate line of bunks. It was the loudest she'd heard him speak since—well, since. And judging by the haggard look on his face, it was taking everything in him to do it. "I'll be delivering your briefing for your upcoming mission. Not here," he added, tone almost dry. "I'd like to speak with you more informally first. There's some business to wrap up." His mouth twisted up at the word, as if it tasted foul.

"Sir?" Rex glanced at Cody, then back to Obi-Wan. "I thought you were preparing for the funeral."

"I have, and did," he assured him tiredly. She'd never heard or seen him so exhausted. Obi-Wan looked to Ahsoka then. "But if the Council is demanding you all miss your own—general's funeral," he continued, the words catching, "I may as well make the send-off as painless as possible."

"I blame the Seppies for that, sir, not the Council," Jesse chimed in. "Wouldn't be funerals to miss without them."

Obi-Wan only acknowledged that with a pained, sympathetic look, then turned back to Rex. "I'm also here," he continued, "because the process for transferring a new general to the 501st has been initiated."

"It's been two days," Ahsoka cut in, and eyes all fell to her. "That's it? That's all the time they're going to give Anakin?"

"That's all the time we can afford," Obi-Wan replied, not unkindly. There was something shimmering in his eyes. He cleared his throat and looked back to Rex. "Usually, this transfer is handled entirely by the Council. But I wanted to—I wanted all of you to have some input, given the circumstances."

She watched Cody step closer to his general. Obi-Wan, visibly struggling to keep a calm expression, was silent for a moment. Then he blinked, and slipped a hand into his robes. Retrieving the datapad tucked within, he held it out to Rex. "These are the candidates," he said quietly. "Read them over carefully, and have your men do the same. I want your choices ranked and delivered back to me as quickly as possible." His jaw worked. "All those Jedi… they have an excellent working history with clone battalions. I made sure of it."

Ahsoka clenched her teeth and thought back to General Krell. The clones had attended his funeral, she thought bitterly. In fact, they'd all insisted on it.

Rex looked down at the datapad. His throat worked again. "Of course, sir," he whispered, strained. "Thank you."

"Please don't thank me," Obi-Wan murmured, and raked a hand through his hair. "I'll leave you to suit up. Meet me in the legion's transport hangar when you're all ready."

"Wait," Ahsoka said, and he paused mid-turn. "What about me?"

She watched Obi-Wan struggle with himself again, and let out a breath before he responded. "Will you remain with the 501st, you mean?"

"Why wouldn't she?" Fives asked. She saw his shoulders tilt defensively as he turned to address the general, as if trying to put himself in between her and Obi-Wan.

"Ahsoka will be attached to whatever legion her Master leads," he said slowly. His image went blurry as her eyes filled with tears. She couldn't get the protest out, couldn't tell him that she had no Master, not anymore. Only a shaky exhale came out of her.

The barracks were silent. She felt Rex's grief contort in the air like a marionette, hanging above him, over him.

"Both myself and Master Plo would be honoured to inherit you, Ahsoka, when you're ready," Obi-Wan continued, and she heard the waver in his voice now. "But that's a discussion for another time." He turned to Rex and nodded to the datapad, now hanging limply in the captain's hand by his side. "Please, act quickly on that," he urged him. "This added delay is already causing a wrinkle in the Council, and I only have a limited amount of say in this process."

"Right," Rex said.

Obi-Wan didn't manage a smile, but he did give Rex a kind look. "We'll speak soon."

With a round of aye-ayes, he and Cody departed. The door swished shut, and Fives let out an explosive sigh.

"This fucking sucks," he muttered, and found Ahsoka's gaze.

"Yeah," she whispered, pressing her forehead to her knees and nodding. "It does."

. . .

Padmé wandered the halls of the Temple, feeling aimless. She should have left with the other diplomats after Anakin's funeral; this place was not meant for anyone besides Jedi. And yet she lingered. Not so that she could speak with anyone—no one had wanted to socialise afterwards, most of all her. But she stayed to see Ahsoka off to bed, escorted safely to her quarters by Master Plo Koon. And now she looked for Obi-Wan.

He'd disappeared shortly after the procession, saying nothing to anyone and not uttering a word during the funeral. For a man that could fill any room he occupied with his flair and wit, the general was nothing more than a shadow now, his presence known only by the meagre physical space his body took up.

Anakin had told her Obi-Wan would probably be upset by his strategic and temporary demise. Either he'd been uncharacteristically modest about his former Master's reaction, or Anakin had severely underestimated exactly how much Obi-Wan cared for him. She knew, with a wince, that the latter was likely the truth.

Padmé continued her search, though she didn't have to look far. Despite his withdrawal from the world, she found him quickly, alone on one of the Temple's many balconies. His back to her, his face was concealed in the span of his palm, elbows braced on the thick railings. Looking around quickly to confirm they would have privacy, Padmé walked out onto the balcony and cleared her throat.

"Master Kenobi?"

He exhaled. Slowly he straightened up from the railing, hand still at his face—now wiping at his eyes. When he turned to her, she did her best not to flinch. He'd been crying, and seemed to be upset about the fact that he couldn't hide it. She noticed, also, that Anakin's saber hung at his belt, next to his own. She wondered if he'd been wearing it at the funeral; his cloak had been too thick to tell.

"Padmé," he rasped, offering her the ghost of a smile. "I thought you'd have left by now."

"I thought so, too." She gestured to the railing. "May I join you?"

He nodded, turning back, and she took up the spot beside him. She noticed his white-knuckle grip on the corner of the rail. Padmé looked away.

"I stuck around to see if Ahsoka was alright," she murmured, and he bowed his head in another nod. "And you, as well."

He huffed. "I appreciate your concern."

She set a hand on his arm, and when he didn't react, Padmé closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

She felt the corded muscle of his arm seize and unseize, his entire body shuddering with grief. When she looked at him again, he was shaking his head.

"I don't…" he began, sniffling. He wiped at his face with a wrist. "I don't know how we'll get past this one."

Her chest ached. "We will," she assured him quietly, fiercely, squeezing his arm. " _You_ will. It just takes time."

He gave her an appreciative look that very plainly said he didn't believe her. "I envy your composure," he said then. "If it weren't for Ahsoka, I'd… well, I'd be more of a mess than I am now."

"Lifetime of practice," she said with a sad smile. She did not say what she wanted to say, which was that she knew exactly where Anakin was, and it wasn't in a tomb. "And you knew him far better and for far longer, Obi-Wan. It's unfair to compare yourself to me."

"Of course," he whispered. There was another flash in his eyes, another look that said he didn't believe what she was saying. Padmé glanced away, suddenly very aware of the heavy weight of her wedding band, tucked into a hidden chain beneath her dress. "Perhaps it's for the better, anyway," he continued then, looking back out at the city. "I recused myself from the Council for the time being."

Her eyes widened, and she stepped closer to him. His arm felt too thin beneath her palm. "Whatever for?"

"I'm useless at best, and a nuisance at worst." He gave her a smile that held no humour. "I'm unbalanced, unavoidably so. Master Yoda says my presence is a distraction."

"You just lost your—you just lost Anakin," she said, somewhat horrified. "Obi-Wan, anybody would be—"

"It's alright," he interrupted, and covered the hand on his arm with his own. The skin of his palm was cool. "It's only temporary. And it's not untrue. I need to…." He let out a sigh. "I need to relearn how to control myself."

She could feel her own bout of tremors coming on. Even without the Force, she could see how off-kilter he was. He barely looked or sounded like himself. Padmé remembered to project only sorrow, only compassion. Regret and guilt would further muddy him, and Obi-Wan had more than enough on his plate.

In time, he would come to know the truth anyway.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked. The urge to hug him was strong, but she tamped it down, afraid that if she got too close, if she felt how frail he'd become, she'd tell him what was really going on.

When he looked at her, she could see he had the same urge, too. He stood very still, hands gripping the railing. "Not any more than you've already done, my dear."

"Please contact me, anytime you need," she urged him, squeezing his arm again. "Whatever the hour. Obi-Wan," she insisted when he didn't respond. "Please promise me."

"I will," he assured her. "Thank you."

"No need," she said with a smile.

He was silent. She looked back to the door, to the dark Temple halls within. "You need to get some rest," she said then. "I know you're likely shipping out again soon."

"Of course."

He still didn't move. Her hand on his arm became insistent, tugging him away from the balcony. "Come on," she said, in as chipper a tone as she could muster. "I'll tuck you in."

Obi-Wan almost laughed, and let her pull him back inside.

. . .

Ahsoka landed heavily on her back. Her hands slapped the mat, taking some of the impact, but it still jarred her head and hurt her lekku.

She groaned and rolled up to her knees, clutching at her head. In front of her, she heard Master Plo deactivate his lightsaber.

"We can continue later," he said, and she winced, looking up at him.

"No," she said, a bit breathless. "I'm… I'm okay. I can go some more."

He only shook his head and offered a hand, which she took. The world spun when he hauled her up, and she grabbed at his arm for support.

Ahsoka sighed, looking at the ground for her dropped sabers. "I'm sorry," she murmured. The room steadied, and she staggered away from him, bending down to grab her hilts. "I'm just… distracted."

"That's understandable—"

"I shouldn't be," she said, straightening and turning back to him. "I should be focused on whatever is in front of me."

She'd gotten pretty good at reading Master Plo, despite how much of his face was covered. He reminded her of the still pools of water in the gardens—soothing to be near, but difficult to judge the depth of. Right now, he just looked kind.

"You should be healing, little 'soka," he corrected her gently. "Whatever form that takes. Our losses do not define us, but they are part of us. You must make this new piece fit with the rest of you."

She didn't want to talk about this. It just made her head and throat ache with the urge to cry, and she'd done too much of that already.

Clipping her sabers back to her belt, she shrugged, looking at the mat, at the imprint of sweat she'd left behind on it. "I don't know how," she murmured. "It's too sharp still."

"As are all losses, at first." He stepped closer, and she saw his robes in her periphery. The hand on her elbow pulled her attention upwards, to meet his gaze. "It will take time."

"We don't have time," she said quietly. "The war—"

"Will be fought by those of us who are able," he finished for her. "Do you begrudge the men billeted in the med bays, healing from their injuries?"

"No, but—"

"Then do not deny yourself the same compassion."

Her vision blurred, and she wiped furiously at her face with a wrist. "But I need—a new Master," she said, forcing the words out. "Master Yoda says so. Master Obi-Wan told me I'd be transferred to another legion when I was assigned a new one. And you're—you're trying to train me, but I don't—"

He pulled her into his arms, and she smushed her face into his robes, crying again. That was all she ever did now.

"Your new Master will reveal themselves in time," Plo assured her, a hand cupping the back of her head. He was steady as she shivered.

"But it's not you," she whispered. It wasn't really a question.

"It could be." He pulled back enough to look at her. "Though your thoughts linger on Obi-Wan."

She sniffled, wiping at her face again. "He's hurting," she said, her words shaky. Everything about her was shaky. "He was there with me when it—when it happened." Her breath hitched. "And he and Anakin—he's already basically my part-time Master. He used to joke with—with—"

She could feel her grief rising again, threatening to overwhelm her. It was endless, springing up whenever she dared think of Anakin for more than a second.

Master Plo pulled them to the side of the training room, sitting her down on the bench. He left her briefly to retrieve a cup of water, and returned from the water stand to hand it to her. She took it in trembling fingers and drank, surprised by how suddenly thirsty she felt.

He sat down beside her, waiting patiently for her to finish. When she set the empty cup down and took a deep breath, she found herself calmer now. Ahsoka closed her eyes, hands clenching around her knees.

"Who do you want to be your Master?" Plo asked her.

She swallowed. "I want Anakin," she whispered, but she didn't sob again. She just felt drained now. "But I know that's not possible."

"Then who else?"

She looked at him. "You," she said, trying to smile at him. "Obi-Wan. I don't know. He's trying his best, but… he lost Anakin, too. I don't think he's handling it well."

"And that's not your burden to bear," Plo told her. "You must look after yourself for now."

She nodded. "I know." Taking another deep breath, she found herself calm. Not centered, but absent of panic. "I think… I think Anakin would want me to be with him," she said then. "And I don't mean—I'm not choosing because of someone else. But I think it fits. And I know Obi-Wan lost his own Master in the same way." Ahsoka looked at Master Plo again. "But that doesn't mean I don't want you."

He let out a chuckle. "I'm not offended, Ahsoka. This is what is best for you. And I will be here for you, whatever you decide."

She did manage a smile then. "You're the best."

The skin around his eyes crinkled with mirth. "Best not tell anyone," he said, lowering his voice. It was the closest he got to conspiratorial. "Especially if I'm not your Master."

She offered him her pinky. "Our secret," she whispered back, and felt laughter bubble up when he linked it with his own.

. . .

She really should be in class, and Obi-Wan should be the one leading it. Ahsoka had found Master Billaba instructing in his place, and quickly decided that if he didn't have to show up, then neither did she.

It wasn't hard to find him. Even in the deep as he was now—as they both were—Obi-Wan was too habitual for his own good. It had taken her a while to figure out what those habits were, but once learned, the pattern was hard not to notice.

His hideaway for today was his office. There were no Ghost Company troopers posted outside his door, nor the Temple Guard. He wanted to be left alone, clearly. She went to him anyway.

"Master," she whispered, leaning against his door. She knew he could hear her. "I have to speak with you."

No response. There was no doubt he was in there; she could feel him inside, bleeding like an open wound. It made sense. The world suddenly felt too sharp, as if it would slice her open if she weren't careful.

Ahsoka closed her eyes. "Obi-Wan. Please."

More heartbeats, more silence in between each one. Then the door clicked, and she moved back as it slid open.

It was dark inside his office. Stepping through the door cautiously, she looked around the room. His desk and chair were empty, its surface neatly arranged. The blinds were drawn down, and his holo was off. No disturbances, no indication of any presence.

Except that she could feel him, very clearly. He was in this room.

Stepping further into his office, she approached the desk. Aside from a skewed datapad, thrown atop it as an afterthought, it was clean and relatively free of art or knick-knacks—with a few notable exceptions. There was the stress ball sitting on top of some books that Anakin had purchased for him as a joke, painted to look like Coruscant. In a glass container to the side held several medals, awarded to him by the office of the Republic for his military service. And a tiny wire frame sat at the centre front of the desk. It was long and squat, with four thin support struts for feet, and tines that stuck upwards at each end to hold something.

She picked it up from the mahogany surface and turned it around in her hands to inspect it. She'd seen it before, but it usually held something—a lightsaber, which clipped into the grooved tines at either end of the frame. Careful to set it back down exactly where she'd found it, Ahsoka looked up.

She finally saw him. He was kneeling at the window, alcoved behind his desk, with his back to her. She thought he was meditating at first, but quickly scrapped that idea. He was too troubled to be meditating, and if he was, he was doing a very poor job of it.

"Master?"

Ahsoka walked around his desk and stopped a few paces behind him. Over his shoulder, she saw something laid out in front of him—twin lightsabers, one of which was Anakin's.

No, she decided then. Not twins, but brothers. They were very different blades.

"Sit," he said, barely a whisper. Without comment, she knelt beside him on the mat he'd laid out, staring ahead at the blinds instead of looking at him.

"It's probably stupid to ask how you're doing," she murmured, trying for levity. She never realised how easy it was to get a smile out of him until he'd stopped doing it altogether.

His head moved then, his eyes opening. She felt them land on her. "You came here to ask me something else."

She didn't look at him. She looked at the sabers instead, and nodded. "Yes."

The one beside Anakin's was the one she recognised from his desk. She'd asked him once whose it was, and he'd told her it was his former Master's—the man who'd been murdered by a Sith. It now accompanied his former Padawan's blade, murdered by Hardeen.

"Neither of these are your fault," she told him, finally looking up at his face. "Anakin's death isn't mine, either. He just… died."

"Killed," he corrected. It was not the tone of a teacher instructing a student, but of a man setting straight an unjust lie. "He was killed."

"I know, I was there." Ahsoka took a breath. She couldn't become angry with him. He had offered her his patience in times of fury, and doubt—now it was her turn to offer the same. "But that doesn't change anything."

He didn't respond to that. She'd never seen him sit so still. "What is it?" he asked then. He didn't sound angry anymore. "That you've come to ask me."

It was difficult to find a good place to look. She settled for her hands, palms pressed flat to each thigh. "Right." She took a breath. "I spoke with Master Plo about my training, um, going forward. I wanted to know if I could be your… your new Padawan."

Ahsoka didn't expect an immediate response. She didn't even expect a good one—not with how distant he was. But he surprised her.

"I see." There was another pause. "For your own well-being, that's probably not a good idea, given my track record."

It took her a moment to realise that was a joke. It was a very bad one, but Obi-Wan told a lot of those. She didn't have it in her to smile, so she met his eyes instead.

"I don't care," she murmured. "I think it's what—what Anakin would want."

It was the first time either of them had said his name in the course of their conversation, and Obi-Wan's face finally crumpled. He turned away quickly, drawing in breath, forcing his grief down, but she knew how powerful that demon was. It wasn't so easily swallowed back.

"And I won't take no for an answer," she continued quietly, giving him what little privacy she could by looking away. Her eyes fell to Anakin's lightsaber again. "We need to stick together."

"I can't—" He stopped himself, struggling, his hands now fists on the top of his legs. "I don't know if I can do it again, Ahsoka."

"Neither can I," she murmured. "But we have to try."

A bubble of laughter escaped him, as abrupt and tinged with sorrow as it was. It sounded like it came out of a different person. "Do—or do not," he forced out then, and she felt the same brief hysterics threaten to take her over.

Ahsoka reached for one of his hands. It was cool—he was always cool to the touch—and he squeezed her fingers so tightly her knuckles popped.

"We'll go slow," she whispered. "See how it works."

He nodded. She watched his hair fall forward, brushing his forehead, but he either didn't notice or didn't care. He looked at her then, eyes fiercely blue in the dim light. "I'd ask for your patience, but it seems I already have it."

That was an apology. Ahsoka nudged his arm with her own. "It's okay. I know it won't be easy," she whispered. "But I'd rather do it the hard way with you."

There was a seize of muscle at his jaw, twitching beneath his beard. "Okay," he whispered back, and she finally found her smile again.

. . .

"This is a test," Obi-Wan counselled her from the driver's seat of their speeder. Ahsoka nodded, listening to her Padawan beads rattle at the movement. She clenched her teeth.

"Keep calm," she said back to him, trying to remember her breathing exercises.

"For both of us," he replied, frowning as he guided them through the thick Coruscanti traffic.

She looked at him. "Master?"

"We work as a team," he continued, sounding restrained. His hands were tight on the control wheel. "Draw strength from one another."

Ahsoka decoded his words easily. If she lost it, he would have trouble holding her back. The thought was exhilarating as it was terrifying.

"You're not responsible for my behaviour," he said then, glancing briefly at her before turning his attention back to the traffic lanes. "But I am for yours. And…." He took in a deep breath. "I need your help."

"I understand," she whispered, looking down at the hands curled up in her lap. If Obi-Wan was going to be her—her new Master, this would be her first test with him. And she could not fail him. She would _not_ fail him.

"Hardeen was confirmed to be seen in this bar about two hours ago," he said, rehashing their plan. That was fine. His voice was soothing, even if it was blunted and hollow. "He's likely very drunk. He could be combative. We must avoid a physical confrontation."

She knew what that meant, too. A fight would set them both off.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence. She used that time to calm the ragged beat of her heart, the pulse of adrenaline that thundered in her ears and throbbed colour into her face. Emotions did not hold sway over the ability of Jedi. They rose above it, mastered it, no matter the circumstance.

Obi-Wan pulled them into the lot outside the bar and switched off the engine. She watched him lean back in his seat and close his eyes, breathing carefully. His hands still gripped the controls.

Then he turned to her, eyes fierce. "Are you ready?"

"Are you?"

His mouth crooked. "For both our sakes, I hope so."

"I'll throw you out a window if not," she said, feeling herself smile. It was the first joke she'd told in days. It felt good.

Obi-Wan only gave her an odd look before opening his door and ducking out. She crawled out of her side, and frowned at the rain that greeted her when she stood up. Just their luck.

"Let's go," he said quietly, holding a hand above his head. The rain parted around him, and she hurried to keep pace by his side. She could feel his register clearly; he was more focused now, more tightly controlled. It wasn't a stable thing, but it felt halfway similar to what his usual calm, serene presence felt like. She hoped she projected the same.

Ahsoka immediately missed the rain when they stepped inside the stuffy, dank pub. Their Jedi apparel drew the eyes of many, but no one got in their way.

She followed Obi-Wan to the central bar, trying to look menacing and sure of herself. He rapped his knuckles on the counter, and the bartender's slug-like head swivelled in their direction.

"A man by the name of Rako Hardeen is staying here," he said to the owner. "I'd like to know which room he's renting."

The bartender's tail twitched as it grabbed an empty glass off the counter. "Who's asking?"

Obi-Wan flashed a smile that was neither cordial nor pleasant. "Oh, it wasn't a question."

She saw his other hand drop to his belt, fingers splayed on the hilt of his saber. The bartender saw it, too, and one of his eyestalks twitched.

"Four-A," the owner said, more seriously this time. "Rooms are in the back."

"Thank you." Stepping away, he gestured for Ahsoka to follow him. They had to wind around well-packed tables to get to the side door, and Ahsoka could feel the tension in the air. Intrigue, fear, disgust, even hatred. Jedi were not welcome here.

Obi-Wan ducked through the filthy beads that hung over the door frame into the back, but stopped at the threshold of Hardeen's room, hand hovering over the door panel. He looked down at Ahsoka again.

"No fights," he whispered, but she thought it was more for his own benefit than hers. Obi-Wan wasn't one to repeat himself.

"Calm and controlled," she replied back. With a satisfied nod, he engaged the door and stepped inside.

Her eyes took a moment to adjust. The only light in the room was coming through the slatted blinds, and even that was only the neon flashes of outdoor billboards and street lights. It cast the room in stark blues and greens.

"Hardeen," Obi-Wan said, eyes affixed to the bed pushed up against the far wall. She saw a lumpen form there, in the shape of a sleeping man. Ahsoka's hand went to one of her lightsabers, then relaxed. No fighting.

The only reply was a drunken murmur. Obi-Wan shot her a glance and approached the bed, stopping a few steps away.

"Hardeen," he repeated, much less politely. His boot rose and tapped the box spring. "Wake up."

The man rolled over, hand shielding his eyes as he frowned up at Obi-Wan. "Another Jedi?" he grumbled. "Wait until I'm, I'm sober… I'll kill you then, too…."

Ahsoka didn't have time to react. Obi-Wan grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt and hauled him bodily off the bed, his hand the only thing holding him upright as Hardeen scrambled to get his feet under him.

"Not another word," he said, very carefully. She felt the air throb with fire and fury. It reminded her of Anakin when he lost his temper.

Hardeen's hands had wrapped around Obi-Wan's wrist, and he flashed him a grin. "Why?" Hardeen asked. "You gonna kill me, Master Kenobi? I thought Jedi didn't—"

"Master!" Ahsoka dashed forward, grabbing his other hand—the one that had fallen to his saber. He looked down at her, face in a snarl.

"No fighting," she said, her words coming out desperate. Then she forced a smile. "There's a window right there, remember?"

With effort, she saw his expression smooth out. His chest rose and fell in a deep breath. "Right."

Obi-Wan looked back at Hardeen. He didn't ignite his saber, thankfully. That didn't stop him from slamming his head into Hardeen's nose, though.

The man fell to the floor, clutching at his face and groaning. In the meantime, Obi-Wan retrieved the pair of cuffs from his belt and wiped the blood from his face—none of which was his.

"You got a hard head, old man," Hardeen said from the floor, coughing. "Ugh…."

Ahsoka felt another shift in the air—fury to curiosity, doubt. Obi-Wan went still, and he stared at Hardeen. "What did you say?"

"What?" Hardeen looked up from between his fingers, palm still cupped around his nose. "You're an old man, aren't you? Sure look like one."

Ahsoka tapped his shoulder, and Obi-Wan tore his gaze away. "Better cuff him," she murmured. "Before he tries to get away."

He blinked, nodding absently. "Yes."

Obi-Wan knelt down and flipped Hardeen, binding his hands behind his back. Then he dragged him up off the floor, and Ahsoka grabbed his other arm.

Hardeen was strangely calm as they dragged him out of the bar. She didn't know what to make of it; surely he knew he was going to prison. Maybe it was because of how drunk he was.

But he didn't _feel_ drunk—he certainly smelled like booze, but his mind felt surprisingly lucid. Obi-Wan seemed confused by it too, but he said nothing of it, only shoving Hardeen into the backseat and slamming the door closed with more force than necessary.

"That went well, I think," Ahsoka said, watching him slick his hair back. He'd been doing that a lot lately.

"Yes," Obi-Wan said again, still sounding far away.

"What is it?"

He shook his head, eyes fixed on the tinted window that hid Hardeen behind it. "I don't know," he murmured. She watched his hand at his belt again. It wrapped around Anakin's saber this time, not his own.

"He seems weird," she said, offering her own thoughts. "But I guess… you have to be weird to kill a Jedi."

Obi-Wan looked at her. The same hollow glint in his eyes had returned. "I suppose you do," he whispered.

. . .

"Is that really your move?"

Rex looked up from the board. Ahsoka was frowning at her pieces, her finger hovering over her control key. He realised he'd just set her up to overtake his final pawn.

"You were gonna beat me anyway," he replied goodnaturedly, sitting up straight in his seat.

Instead of initiating her final move, she shut off the board. The faint blue glow emanating from the holo-pieces winked out of existence.

When he met her eyes again, she was still frowning—but not in concentration this time. "We can do something else," she offered.

He shook his head and leaned back in the booth. "Sorry, kid. I'm not paying much attention."

"I know the feeling." She grabbed her glass and drained it without any pleasure, sighing when she set it down. "This is a really lame party."

He looked out into the bar and couldn't find it in him to disagree. The music and chatter were loud enough to make thinking difficult, something he'd normally relish on a night off. But watching clones dance with other patrons, hooting and hollering without a care in the world, only darkened his mood.

"We can…." He trailed off, wondering what they could do. Nothing seemed appealing.

"Let's go sit outside," she said, sliding out of her seat. "This place is stuffy."

Rex followed her without comment, waving down the concerned looks they got from some of the other clones. It was mostly Torrent Company out of the 501st that had come with them, and even without any of their markings he could easily pick them out of the crowds. They were the only ones who looked unhappy to be there.

He took in a lungful of crisp night air when they shouldered outside. Ahsoka made a beeline for a bench near the curb, and Rex sat down beside her. He wiped his palms down the front of his pants, annoyed at how sweaty he felt.

"We could get takeout," Ahsoka said, reading off a few billboard ads on nearby buildings. She didn't sound particularly excited.

"If you want," he replied back, just as flatly.

Ahsoka leaned forward, pressing her face into her hand. Her beads rattled when she shook her head. "This sucks, Rex."

"I know." There was nothing left in him to cry out; he'd long since set that aside. The hollow feeling that came after was familiar to him—too familiar—but he hadn't figured out how to make that part any less unpleasant to deal with.

Ahsoka didn't cry, either. She just sighed. "I really want to stay with you guys."

"Ah, the 212th isn't so bad," he assured her, trying for a more chipper tone. "You'll be leading with Cody."

"Cody's okay," she murmured, and then peeked up at him. "Not as cool as you, though."

"No one's as cool as me," he replied, almost smiling. She nudged him with an elbow.

"You can tell Fives I said that, too."

"Oh, I will."

Ahsoka let out a resigned _ugh_ and slumped back against the bench, let her legs splay out on the sidewalk. "I want to have fun," she said, and looked at him. "I know you wanna have fun, too. But it feels like… I don't know. It feels like celebrating that he's gone."

Rex nodded. "I know. It's hard."

"Everyone keeps saying it's hard. It's mostly just boring." She picked at a pull in her pants. "I didn't realise mourning could be so dull."

He wanted to say _you get used to it,_ but that probably wasn't what she needed to hear. "Alcohol helps," he said instead, and she gave him a sardonic look.

"It usually just makes me dizzy. No thank you." Ahsoka sprung up then, and tugged on his arm. "Walk with me," she said. "I wanna go get food."

He glanced around at the streets. "We shouldn't be out this late. Especially not you," he added, giving a pointed look to her lightsabers.

She rolled her eyes. "If someone tries to kill me, it'll be the most exciting thing to happen in weeks. Come on."

Unable to argue with that logic, he let her pull him up towards the intersection. Rex fiddled with his comm, enough to send the others an update on where they were heading, but leaving no invitation to join. He figured they'd all be gone by the time they got back anyway.

The streets were pretty quiet, muffled by a background of white noise that spilled out of the other bars. This part of the city was mostly friendly to clones and Jedi, so he didn't expect any trouble. No one else seemed to take any notice of them anyway. It felt nice to be unremarkable sometimes.

"I wanna try this restaurant," Ahsoka told him, pulling up an ad on her comm and showing it to him.

He raised a brow. "That place looks like a dump. Is it even still operating?"

"I hope so. Anakin talked about it a few times," she added, her expression softening. "He was going to bring me there when we got the chance."

Rex bumped his shoulder with hers, trying to distract her from the faraway look that was growing in her eyes. "Fine. But if I get food poisoning, I'm throwing up on his grave."

. . .

Something was not right.

Obi-Wan poured over the report from the prison. Three high-value prisoners had escaped, including Hardeen. And Bane.

Hardeen had proved himself a capable foe, that much was clear. But he'd been off their radar entirely before his successful assassination of Anakin, only taking mid-level jobs at best, mostly kidnappings of local officials and the occasional hit on a family member of one of the many crime syndicates. Nothing that involved the Republic military directly, and especially not anything so high profile as a Jedi Knight.

It wasn't entirely unprecedented. Some hunters stayed far away from Republic dealings—until they didn't. It made security more difficult, and it made counter-attacks more complicated to launch. There was a strategy to hiring otherwise unremarkable hunters.

But it felt suspiciously convenient. And something pulled at him, told him to trust his own doubts. He had felt something… intimate from Hardeen, a confidence that didn't come from bravado or arrogance. Even from a man who had murdered a Jedi.

He felt for his belt, down to where Anakin's saber hung beside his own. Hope had begun to fester, and he was desperate enough not to immediately dismiss it as a wishful fancy.

Perhaps. Maybe. Somehow, somewhere.

The Council was no help. He hadn't been to a meeting in two weeks, and Master Yoda had been quick to dismiss his concerns.

"In mourning, we find fantasies of futures that could be," the Grand Master had told him calmly. "Indulge it not, you know better to."

Caught between despondency and fury, Obi-Wan had meditated. Or tried to. He hadn't been able to ever since Anakin's death. He had no centre.

He was unbalanced.

The grain of truth in Master Yoda's words had given him pause, despite how little they reassured him. It was difficult to partition instinct from his own emotions, not when he was so deep in his grief. He knew this to be true. And yet….

"Master?"

He looked up and saw Ahsoka at his door. His first thought was to send her away—he didn't need to involve her in this delusion. But he knew she'd felt it, too.

"Come here," he said instead, waving her in. She frowned and approached his desk, stopping beside him and looking down at the datapad he'd been leaning over.

"What is it?"

"The prison break," he said, and her expression darkened. "It's odd, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

_Stop it at once._ His jaw tightened, looking at her curious expression. It was painfully young.

Obi-Wan pushed away from the desk and shook his head. "Nothing," he muttered. "I'm sorry, Ahsoka. It's nothing."

"It feels weird though, doesn't it?"

It was his turn to frown. "How so?"

Her shoulders rose and fell. "I don't know how to describe it, but—it's different. Something is… off. When I think about Anakin, it's not like a void, not like—" Her mouth twisted up. "It feels weird," she repeated, and looked back up at him. "Is this how it felt for you? With… your Master?"

He couldn't help his wince. "I felt clouded for a long time," he said, stepping backwards and grabbing for his chair, sliding into it. He gestured for her to sit in one of his spares, and she slumped into the seat. "It was difficult to recover from that sort of loss. But I had… I had Anakin to look after," he whispered. "Although I suppose it's much the same with you, now. You're just much easier to handle."

Her mouth quirked, but her heart wasn't in it. "But did you feel like…." Her hands wheeled in the air, as if trying to conjure something. "Feel like he lingered? Master Qui-Gon, I mean. Like he wasn't gone, just—blocked, somehow. Silent."

He swallowed hard, avoiding her expectant gaze. It had hope in it, something he couldn't face. His response to this question was paramount—he could not indulge, as Master Yoda had said. No matter how badly he wanted to.

"Anakin is dead, Ahsoka," he told her quietly, and felt her ache throb in the air. "I don't know what's going on, but you must accept that."

She propped her cheek on a fist, nodding. "Okay," she murmured, dejected. "Sorry. I was being foolish."

"There's nothing foolhardy about hope," he whispered. Her smile was more genuine this time.

. . .

Master Yoda's quarters were as ordered as ever, and impossible to get comfortable in. He shifted on his seat, trying to relieve the strain in his back.

"How are you coping, Obi-Wan?" Yoda asked him, hands folded neatly in his lap.

Obi-Wan gave a one-shoulder shrug. "Fine, I suppose," he said. Yoda's frown made him straighten. "I don't mean to be flippant, Master. But my mental state is not what I came here to discuss with you."

"Skywalker's lightsaber then, hm?"

He didn't bother to react. Of course Yoda knew. Nodding, he unclipped it from his belt and looked down at it. "I believe… Anakin is… well, perhaps not alive, but—" Obi-Wan struggled to find the right words. "You'll think me desperate if I say what I want to."

"Grieving, you are," Yoda replied. "A natural course, but one you must not indulge in."

"Right. Well, I don't believe I'm—" He sighed, cutting himself off, and tried again. "Anakin's kyber crystal… reacted to Hardeen when we arrested him. I heard it sing."

"Not unusual, that is. Hm?" Yoda held out a hand, and Obi-Wan gave it to him. He brushed his hands across the surface, large eyes running down its length. "Networks these crystals make, to people we have strong connections to."

"But Anakin didn't know Hardeen. They never even met." He looked to the floor in a vain attempt to hide his bitterness. It hadn't been a proper fight. Anakin had been killed by a man too cowardly to even introduce himself.

"And yet responsible he was, for Anakin's death."

Yoda set the lightsaber aside, and Obi-Wan realised he wouldn't be getting it back. His chest tightened. "A test this is for you, Obi-Wan."

"A test about what?" he blurted out, temper flaring. "This is just a rehearsal of—of Qui-Gon's death. I moved on from that. What could I possibly learn from further grief?"

Yoda said nothing, only stared at him. His gaze made Obi-Wan sheepish, and he ran a hand over his face.

"I'm sorry, I just—"

"Trust in this, you will. Give it time."

"Of course," he murmured, and let out a breath. He looked down at his hands, at the lone lightsaber now at his belt. His jaw worked.

"There is something more you wish to say?"

"I can feel him," he whispered. "I don't know why, but he lingers."

"In time, all will be revealed. Trust," Yoda repeated. His stick poked Obi-Wan in the leg, forcing him to look up.

He managed a half-smile. "Trust," he whispered back, without any conviction.

. . .

"I can escort you back," Bail told her quietly, watching the cars pull out of the lot. It was far too late to be anywhere but in bed, but she'd been pulling a lot of all-nighters lately.

"That's quite an inconvenience," Padmé replied, but she smiled in relief when Bail only scoffed.

"It would be if I didn't like you," he said, leading them to her own cab. "I'm not a fan of long, silent car rides."

She wrinkled her nose. "You're in luck, then. I love listening to myself talk."

In truth, she was grateful. Her aides had all been sent home hours ago, and she didn't feel like calling in an escort from the Senate Guard. This time of night, they always took too long to get here, and their armour usually made pulls in the fabric of her car seats.

Bail only shook his head as he pulled open her door. "You're never going to convince me of your arrogance, Senator."

Padmé stopped beside him, grinning. "It's the perfect cover."

He laughed, walking around to his side of the speeder. "If you say so."

She tapped the hood to get his attention, before he ducked inside. "You're sure?" she asked, one more time. "Breha must be worried about you, coming home so late."

"Breha gets home later than I do," he said easily. "And it's tricky business these days, travelling the streets. They're not safe."

"No," she murmured. "I suppose not."

His expression fell. "I didn't mean—"

"I know you didn't mean anything by it," she assured him, smiling. "It's true, anyway. If Jedi can be killed in the street, what chance do we have?"

"I don't know," he hummed in a light tone, opening his own door. "Your track record with surviving assassination attempts so far has been—"

"Padmé!"

They both looked up. Across the tarmac a figure approached them at a crisp jog, waving them down. It was Obi-Wan.

"General?"

He slowed to a stop several feet away, pausing for breath. She shot a look at Bail, who was struggling between concern and annoyance.

"Is everything alright, Kenobi?" Bail asked.

Obi-Wan waved his concerns off with a hand. "Yes," he said, a bit breathlessly, and Padmé got a better look at him as he came closer, walking under the overhead lot lights. He looked like a man possessed, as if he were standing at the precipice of a canyon and wondering whether he should jump. "I'd like to speak with you, Senator."

"Me?"

"It's quite late," Bail began, but Obi-Wan shook his head.

"I don't anticipate this will be a long conversation."

Padmé frowned. Apparently it wasn't negotiable. "Fine. But I'd rather not have it in a parking lot, if it's all the same to you."

"Right." He smoothed his robes. "I'll drive you home," he said then. It wasn't really an offer.

She looked at Bail again, who gave her an exasperated look. Organa raised a brow at Obi-Wan.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

Padmé wanted to ask the same. She'd seen him return from a siege in better order than he was now.

"No one answers that question truthfully," Obi-Wan said dismissively. He hadn't even bothered to look in Bail's direction. "Padmé, I really must speak with you."

She nodded. "Of course. Bail—"

"I know when I'm being kicked out," he replied, and stepped away from the cab. Tipping his head to Obi-Wan, he flashed a smile at Padmé. "Safe travels."

"You as well," she said back earnestly, and watched him cross the lot towards his own car. She'd intended on allowing him the option to sleep on her couch, given the hour, but—

A hand on her shoulder startled her, and she looked back in time to see that Obi-Wan was right there now, in front of her. Bright blue eyes looked wild in the dim parking lot light, and if he were any other man, she'd suspect he'd been drinking.

"Do you know anything?" he said fiercely, his voice low. He looked like he wanted to shake her, but stopped himself.

She frowned. "About wh—"

"About Anakin." His eyes flicked around, as if to confirm they were alone, before falling back to her. "Do you know?"

"Know what?" She grabbed his hand from her shoulder and pulled it off, uncomfortable with how close he was. He didn't resist, and even moved back a step, as if suddenly realising his behaviour. When she saw that he wavered slightly, Padmé shook her head. "When did you sleep last?"

"I'm not sure," he said offhandedly. He was staring off into the lot at nothing in particular, eyes darting around. She could see a bead of sweat trickle down his temple.

"I'll drive us back to my apartment," she said then. It wasn't an offer, either. "Get in."

He was quiet when they got into her speeder. He looked deflated, exhausted, slumped into the passenger seat. As she pulled them out of the lot, she felt around in her glove box for the bag of sweets she kept in there and tossed it into Obi-Wan's lap. It made him flinch and look up at her.

"I'm assuming you haven't eaten anything either," she replied, keeping her eyes on the traffic. It was sparse this time of night, but she knew better than to think that automatically meant an easy trip. The ride back to her apartment was short, but… well, as Bail said. She'd lived through being tracked and hunted too many times to be careless.

"The Force sustains me," he said numbly, and she scoffed.

"That's an incredibly annoying way of saying no. Eat a couple," she insisted. "They're good." They were all that constituted her breakfast most mornings, but she didn't think he'd find that particularly interesting.

Padmé heard the bag rustle a moment later and kept her smile to herself. "You can sleep on my couch," she continued. "Call a cab in the morning. Which is in…." She read the chrono on the dashboard and winced. "About two hours. You can sleep in, then."

Obi-Wan said nothing. Whatever brief mania had overtaken him in the parking lot had since dissipated, and what was left in its place was only a hollow silence. If she was less busy, she'd be deeply concerned about him. Time was very clearly not helping him recover.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, the only noise coming from the occasional rustle of the bag. At least he was listening to her. Sometimes she thought maybe he'd drifted off to sleep, and hoped that he had, but whenever she snuck a glance at him, he was still awake, staring silently out of his window.

Padmé guided her speeder into her parking space and shut off the engine. Not waiting for him, she pushed out of the car and walked around to his side, opening the door.

"Come on," she said, waving him up. He unfolded from the seat with a groan, and stepped onto the landing platform with a chagrined glance.

"This is… an imposition," he said, as if finally registering where he was. His eyes followed the steep line of her apartment building upwards, until it disappeared into the city gloam.

Padmé rolled her eyes and began to head for the lobby doors. "You think you're the only overly-emotional Jedi who's crashed at my apartment with no notice?"

That got a weak smile out of him, and she hurried them inside, not daring to say anything more risky.

Once they were properly inside her suite, she forced him to sit down on her couch and boiled water for tea. And then made caf for herself, she decided with a sigh. She probably wasn't going to get any sleep at this point. With another thought, she grabbed some biscuits from her cupboard and emptied a sleeve of them onto a plate. Obi-Wan probably needed the carbs.

Juggling all of that back into her living room, she set down their drinks and snacks on the table, then sat in one of her chairs. "Okay," she breathed, grabbing her caf and watching him pick up his own teacup. She should take off her make-up and let down her hair, but he clearly needed to talk first. "What's the matter?"

He took a generous sip before replying, and the hot drink seemed to fortify him somewhat. "This is good," he murmured, before settling it in his hands and exhaling. "I shouldn't be bothering you with this."

Padmé waved a hand. "We're well past that, General. Just tell me what's going on."

His mouth crooked up. "You know, even without Anakin's favour, you've always been my favourite Senator."

"I'm happy to hear that," she replied, smiling back. "But you're stalling."

His eyebrow twitched. "You see right through me." Obi-Wan took another sip of his tea. "It's a simple question, really. It's been eating at me, ever since the funeral."

Padmé sobered. That felt like a lifetime ago already. So much had happened. And Obi-Wan, clearly, had clawed himself through every single minute of those weeks.

"You were calm then," he continued. "As you are now."

"I like to think I'm a calm person," she said dryly, garnering another weak smile that quickly disappeared.

"But Anakin…." She saw his jaw tighten. "Everything is different with him."

She said nothing. It wasn't hard to figure out what he was asking—he basically demanded as much in the parking lot. But then he looked up at her, eyes still the same piercing blue.

"I want to know," he said slowly, "if you know anything I don't."

Padmé was careful not to react. "You mean about General Skywalker?"

The honorific seemed to amuse him. "Yes."

"Well," she began, "that's a bit difficult to figure out if I don't know what you know."

"I'm asking if you know if he's alive."

She sat back. "What?"

"He—" Obi-Wan gestured in the air. "He lingers. I can feel him. Traces, whispers."

Padmé set down her cup. "Forgive me," she said. "I know I'm not familiar with how you interact with the Force, but… could that just be you? I know you two were… close." She winced at how the word came out. So short. So woefully inadequate.

"I thought that, too, but… it doesn't feel like Qui-Gon's death. I keep revisiting it, looking for differences. And it's not the same. Something is… off."

She watched him stare at his own reflection in his tea, struggling to keep control of himself. She made sure not to linger on her guilt.

"Have you spoken with the other Jedi?" she asked, and he huffed at that, though it was a hollow sound.

"Most avoid me," he replied, looking up at her. "I don't blame them. My sorrow fills hallways. I'm having trouble… focusing myself. I brought it up to Master Yoda, but he told me not to dwell on it."

"What about Ahsoka?"

"She feels it, too. Which is why I—" His mouth pressed into a line, and she watched his throat work. "Which is why I'm asking you. I can't get her hopes up. She's just a girl."

Padmé had to be very careful. Lying to a Jedi was difficult, especially someone as diplomatically trained as Obi-Wan. She didn't think about Anakin at all—she focused on Obi-Wan instead, on his grief and his pain, and made it her own. It wasn't a difficult thing to do.

"Anakin is dead," she whispered, forcing herself to believe it—believe it hard enough that tears welled in her eyes. "I don't know what else to say."

Obi-Wan said nothing for a moment, only staring at her. Then, "I'm sorry," he whispered, "but I don't believe you."

"Well it's the truth!" She shot up, her cup rattling on the table. "Do you think this has been easy for me, either? I've known—" She clenched her teeth. More half-truths to construct and step around. "I've known Anakin since he was a boy. But now the world is ready to move on from his death, and we have to with it, whether we want to or not."

He watched her, forlorn, looking like he was fighting back tears himself. She grabbed a kerchief and wiped at her face, uncaring that her make-up smudged away. "We're both exhausted," she whispered then, crumpling up the little square of fabric in her hand. "I'll grab you a blanket and pillow."

"Padmé…."

"What?" She glared at him, let her anger flow. He didn't have to know that she was angry at Anakin for having to lie, and not at Obi-Wan for having to bear it.

"I'm sorry I upset you," he said quietly. She suppressed the desire to go over and hug him again.

"Drink your tea," she told him. "I'll be right back."

. . .

Ahsoka became more and more familiar with the upper levels of the Temple. Anakin had never used his office except to hide from paperwork, but Obi-Wan visited his own extensively—even more so now. And while she was still technically Masterless for the time being, it felt right that he would become her new mentor. Even if she had to get used to how differently he operated.

So while she wasn't surprised to see Cody outside Obi-Wan's door, she did frown at how covertly the two were conversing. They air buzzed with their discretion. It felt strangely light, bereft of the heavy weight of sorrow that usually hung around Obi-Wan.

Neither of them had noticed her yet, so she hid behind the wall of one of the seating alcoves that sat in between each office, listening intently.

"—cover for me," Obi-Wan was saying.

"When do I not?" Cody asked dryly, and she saw the general give him a wry look.

"Good man."

"Can I ask where you're going?"

"Afraid not," Obi-Wan replied, smoothing a hand down the front of his robes. "The less people who know, the better. The Council won't listen to me on this. They probably think I've gone mad."

"You're grieving, sir."

"Yes, that's just it, isn't it?" Obi-Wan let out a tired breath, and set his hand on Cody's shoulder. "I should be back in a day or two."

"Be careful," Cody warned, and she saw him glance down at Obi-Wan's belt. She noticed Anakin's lightsaber was gone.

"When am I not, Commander?"

Cody didn't grace that comment with a reply, instead opting for a deep frown.

"Very well." Obi-Wan turned in her direction, and she ducked away. "Ahsoka," he called then, and she winced. "You can stop hiding now."

She peeked out at them again. "I wasn't hiding," she responded. "I was, uh. Reconnoitering."

Obi-Wan actually smiled at that. It made her feel better. "Come over here. I don't want to shout."

She unstuck herself from the wall and walked over to both men. Ahsoka didn't know Cody particularly well, but they'd been in each other's company a lot the past few weeks. And if she was to become Obi-Wan's Padawan, they'd be sharing equal command of the 212th. That thought pleased her a good deal less, mostly because she still didn't want to leave the 501st behind, but she was getting used to a lot that wasn't fair these days.

"Where are you going?" she asked Obi-Wan, and he sighed.

"You heard, then."

"Like I said, reconnoitering."

He arched a brow. He seemed in unusually high spirits today, and although it made her rejoice, it also made her suspicious. "Then you can cover for me as well."

"Uh, no." She frowned. "I'm going with you."

"You're not—"

"No, Obi-Wan—"

"Yes," he insisted harshly, and grabbed her shoulders. "Ahsoka, what I'm about to do is…." He glanced at Cody before looking back to her and lowering his voice. "I will be in trouble with the Council over this."

She raised a brow at the gravity of his tone. "Do you remember who my previous Master was at all?"

To her delighted surprise, that made Obi-Wan laugh. "All too well," he replied.

"Where you go, I go," she told him. "That's how this works now. I'm not going to be passed around between Masters whenever my presence is inconvenient." The words came out more forcefully than she'd intended, but she was glad they did.

Obi-Wan's eyes twinkled with something she hoped was respect, and pulled back from her. "Of course not."

"So where are we going, then?"

Another sigh. "I'll tell you on the way there."

Ahsoka glanced back at Cody. "I'll keep an eye on him, Commander," she promised, and he smiled at her.

"I trust you more than him."

"You wound me, Cody," Obi-Wan said, a hand to his chest. "Best be getting on, though. I've arranged for transport, and we're—" He frowned down at his wrist. "Ah, late. Very good."

"Be careful," Cody called again as they began to rush off.

"Promise!" Ahsoka called back, and hurried to keep up with Obi-Wan.

Ahsoka made special note of the path he took through the Temple; he led them down corridors and side halls that she'd either forgotten existed or hadn't known about. She wondered if this was going to be the new regular from now on. Some part of her hoped it would.

Their sneaking eventually led to a small landing pad on the Northern side of the Temple. Various private craft were docked along its edges, and Obi-Wan hurried straight for one, stopping only long enough to flash his credentials to one of the guards.

"Anakin's ship?" She stopped in the middle of the dock as she realised what they were walking towards, frowning. "That thing barely flies."

"It's inconspicuous," he told her, and waved her forward, not stopping. "Hurry."

Ahsoka jogged up to him. "Yeah, if you're going to—" She pursed her lips. "Where did you say we were going again?"

"I never did." He climbed up the ramp, and she winced at how rickety it sounded at his weight, but followed after him.

"Do you do a lot of sneaking around the Temple, by the way?" she asked him as they climbed up into the cockpit. "I've never used those hallways before."

She saw his amused look in her periphery as he sat down in the pilot's chair and started up the ship. "Much less now," he responded cryptically, raising more questions than she knew how to ask. Guess she had to get used to that, too.

Guiding them out of the docking port, the engines chugged as he accelerated, pulling into the sky on a steep angle. The ship had a decent amount of acceleration, but it was hardly a smooth ride, and Obi-Wan was exiting the atmosphere at a rapid pace. Ahsoka clutched at her harness, waiting for the pressure on her chest to level off as he keyed in their flight solution and logged the takeoff with Coruscant's orbital security. The entire cabin shook with the strain.

"So," she hummed, watching the stars twinkle in the now-black sky as they evened out. "Where are we going?"

"A place I believe Hardeen will be," he replied, and she felt her stomach flip.

"Are you… intending to capture him again?"

She watched his face. The viewport smeared blue as they jumped into hyperspace.

"I want to get a proper look at him," he replied evenly.

"What for?"

He didn't respond for a moment. She could tell he was working through something, trying to find the right thing to say.

Then, "I'm probably wrong," he began.

"About?"

"About what I think is going on." She watched him closely. His eyes slipped shut. "I'm loathe to even mention it to you. I don't want to get your hopes up."

"Just tell me," she said, stretching back in her seat. "I can't be any more disappointed by life than I already am."

He chuckled at that. "Very well." Obi-Wan cleared his throat then, as if preparing himself. "We spoke before, about the strangeness surrounding Anakin's death."

"Yes?"

"Well, I think you're right. Something _is_ off. I can—" He took another breath. "I can still feel him." A pause. "I didn't tell you the full details of what happened in the bar."

Ahsoka frowned. "The night we arrested Hardeen?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "I heard Anakin's kyber crystal," he told her. "It reacted to Hardeen's presence."

"What?" Ahsoka looked down at her own lightsabers, hand curling around one of them. "How is that possible?"

"It isn't… unless that wasn't Hardeen."

She processed what he was suggesting. "You think… that was Anakin? Wait—" Her heart began to pound. "You think he's still alive?"

"I suspect," he corrected her, emphasising the word. "I don't know. But it explains his persistent register in the Force. It explains the crystal. Yoda said it reacted because of his connection to Hardeen, but..." She saw him frown, and then sigh. "Perhaps you're too young for me to complain to you about this."

"Who cares," she replied impatiently, waving him on. "I'm already in a war."

"That you are." He turned in his seat, as much as he could in his harness, and looked at her. "I took temporary leave from the Council, but it was at the behest of Master Yoda. He's not interested in investigating what I believe may be true, and I don't think Anakin is _this_ reckless to concoct a plan like this himself." He smiled then. "But I know better than to underestimate him."

"You think the Council…." She frowned again. "You think they asked him to—fake his own death? Why?"

"There's been whispers about an attempt on the Chancellor's life being plotted, and they're well-founded," Obi-Wan said. "Enough that Jedi would need to investigate the claim. Covertly."

"By faking their own assassination? To… what?"

"We were ordered to arrest him so that he could be imprisoned on Coruscant. I believe his escape was orchestrated—he may be in league with whoever is actually plotting the assassination attempt."

"So he got into prison with the person plotting the _other_ assassination? Dressed as the guy who fake-murdered him?"

Obi-Wan's mouth quirked. "As I said, it's outlandish. I almost hope I'm wrong. It's a ridiculous plan."

"You don't say," she murmured, trying to sort it out in her head. "You think… the guy we arrested in the bar was actually Anakin?"

"I'd find that preposterous, except he called me 'old man'. Hardeen is several years older than I am."

Ahsoka smiled at him. "To be fair, you do look old."

"And I'm ever-grateful for your unwavering support," he replied dryly, turning back to the controls. "Be that as it may, it still seemed odd to me at the time. But it would make sense with this… theory."

Ahsoka sank back in her seat as what he was saying finally hit her. Anakin could be alive. Alive! She wouldn't have to find a new Master. She wouldn't have to transfer out of the 501st. She wouldn't—

"As I said, this is a suspicion," he repeated, picking up on her sudden excitement. "Expect me to be wrong."

"You better be," she muttered. "Because if Anakin faked his own death and didn't tell me, I'll kill him myself."

. . .

Nal Hutta was a horrid planet. Aside from its vast, acrid swamplands, the undeclared planet was under the purview of the Hutts—and occasionally whatever rival crime family caught temporary purchase in the pocketed settlements scattered across its surface. It acted as a haven for those wishing to escape the oversight of the Republic, as well as any other state body. People came here to be forgotten, and to forget.

And, of course, to do dealings with the Hutts. That cross-section of people was interesting enough in its own right, but they weren't here on an anthropological tour.

Holding his hand out for Ahsoka, Obi-Wan watched her stumble down the ship's creaking gangplank. She didn't take up his hand, instead jumping to the ground and readjusting her cloak to fit better over her head.

"I need a new one," she muttered, picking at the fabric, clearly annoyed at how it fell over her head. "My montrals have grown again." She glanced up at him then. "What is it?"

"This is a terrible plan," he said, hiding beneath the safety of his own hood. Doubt gnawed at him. Grief did, too. He shouldn't have dragged her into this. He was acting like—

Well, he was acting like Anakin.

"Finding… him, you mean?" Ahsoka looked around the landing pad, confirming no one could hear them. "Why?"

"If I'm wrong, then colliding with Hardeen could prove disastrous," Obi-Wan explained. He needed to fold up the ramp and go pay the lot keeper, but he didn't move just yet. "The bounty was lifted for him and the two he escaped with, presumably to allow them free movement until they got to Naboo so we could capture them there. The sight of two Jedi could force them underground and delay their plans."

"And if you're right?" Ahsoka was still staring up at him, ever hopeful.

He gave her a smile. "If I'm right," he continued, trying not to believe those words too deeply, "the sight of us might trip up his cover."

"Then maybe he doesn't have to see us," Ahsoka suggested. Since he hadn't moved, she went to the ramp panel instead, keying in the controls for it to lift back up. "Can't you feel him already?"

Obi-Wan looked out at the murky, hodge-podge settlement before them. If he concentrated—an instinctual focus that he now struggled to find—he could grasp the wisps of Anakin's register, more clearly than he'd felt anywhere else. But it was still weak.

"A little," he replied, and turned back to see Ahsoka kicking the ramp until it folded up into the ship. He closed his eyes. "It should be enough," he whispered.

"Yeah, but that's boring." She tugged her hood up so he could see her grin. "Let's go."

"Wait—"

She stopped when he grabbed her arm, but the determined set to her shoulders remained.

"We cannot speak with him," he told her.

"We'll just get a look at him," Ahsoka said, nodding. "Come on. Before you change your mind."

"Yes," he muttered, and let her lead them towards the lot keeper. "Can't have that."

. . .

He was never going to complain about Temple food again.

Hunched over his slurry of a meal, Anakin forced it down with his beer. The alcohol made the food palatable, which was apparently the entire business model of the bar he was in. Bane and Eval didn't seem to mind the food that much, though they'd probably been eating prison slop for a lot longer than he'd had to.

"This is a waste of time," Bane muttered, glaring around the bar. "We can eat on the ride there."

"We're ahead of schedule," Eval assured him around a mouthful of food. "Enjoy yourself."

"Hmph."

Anakin—well, _Hardeen_ said nothing. He focused on forcing down his meal without getting too drunk in the process, although he could go for a good buzz right now. His two compatriots weren't exactly titillating conversationalists.

But he also kept an eye out for anyone watching them. They were mostly in the clear, and he knew the Council would be lifting their bounties soon—if they hadn't already—so it should theoretically be all smooth sailing from here. Any further delays would stall their arrival on Naboo in a week, and the festival was a hard deadline they couldn't afford to miss.

"... sound to you?" Eval cleared his throat and knocked his boot against Anakin's leg. "Hardeen?"

He looked up. "What?"

"Bane was saying you would pay for lunch," he informed him with a grin.

Anakin frowned. "Why?"

"Because you're the reason we need a new ship," Bane explained. "It's the least you could do."

"You never stop complaining, do you?"

Eval laughed. Bane only grew more annoyed.

"You never stop screwing us up," the hunter shot back.

_**ANAKIN.** _

He flinched. He couldn't help it. Bane and Eval both looked at him, and he rubbed his face into his hand to cover himself. "You feel that?" he groaned, slurring his words.

"Feel what?" Eval twitched nervously.

"Like the ground quaked."

"This planet doesn't get earthquakes," Bane cut in. "You're just drunk."

Anakin glared up at him through his fingers. "How could you possibly know that about this place?"

"I know a lotta things you don't." Bane pulled out a toothpick and began to pluck at his teeth.

Anakin took another swig of beer, trying to calm his heart. The call still rang clear in his head; it definitely hadn't been his imagination. Hiding his face in his hand again, he concentrated.

_OBI-WAN,_ he thought back, somewhat annoyed. Had he missed some call from the Council? Why was he reaching out to him?

He was prepared for a response this time, but the intensity of it still rocked him. Relief flooded his mind like the bursting of a rotten dam. The air was thick with it, so much so that he was in awe that Bane and Eval didn't seem to notice. He had to guard himself against it, in order not to allow it to sweep him off his feet—metaphorically speaking.

And on its heels came love. It swelled so rapidly it took his breath away.

_They're here,_ he realised, and tried to see around his hand again.

"You got a problem, Hardeen?"

He struggled to focus on the two men across from him. Bane, impatient, waved a disgusted hand.

"He's sloshed. We gotta go."

"He's still gotta pay first—"

Ignoring their argument, he glanced at the door. Two figures in cloaks entered the bar, and his heart thundered when he saw the tell-tale prongs of Ahsoka's montrals hidden beneath a hood.

He had two options. Ignore them and blow past them both as they exited the bar, or draw attention and start a fight. Looking back to the two men seated with him at the table, he realised that decision had already been made for him—Bane and Eval were planning on leaving him here.

_SORRY,_ Anakin shot in their direction. It was all the warning he could give them.

Standing up and letting his chair clatter to the floor behind him, Anakin reached for the gun at his hip, and as loudly as possible, he screamed, " _Jedi!"_

. . .

He'd have to tell Obi-Wan and Ahsoka afterwards that their theatrics could win awards. His call had drawn the weapon of every person in the bar, including the waitstaff and bartender. Blaster rounds flew like flies in the dim room, washing everything in a boiling red. In the glow, three lightsabers flashed, deflecting bolts with graceful ease and scattering the crowd. They hit nothing but walls, chairs, and tables, and they made a great show of it.

"This way!" cried Bane, shoving past the cook standing in the doorway to the kitchen, who had an armful of a scattershot blaster. Jumping around the now-stumbling man, Anakin followed with Eval in tow. Friers sizzled and silverware clattered as they scrambled past.

Bursting out of the alley door, they sprinted South—towards the wharf. They hadn't had time to buy a ship yet, so they'd have to think fast. And be prepared for fresh bounties again, if the person they were about to steal a ship from bothered to report it. To the Republic was unlikely, but the Hutts….

_Dammit,_ Anakin thought. _They couldn't have come an hour later?_

Pushing that from his mind, he focused on keeping pace with Bane. The spindly hunter was fast, and while he wasn't having any problems, Eval wasn't a runner. He was lagging behind, and Anakin had to wonder if Hardeen would stay back and help.

Yes, he decided then. He still hadn't been paid by Eval yet.

"Hurry!" he urged, grabbing the man's arm and tugging him forward. It took considerable effort not to give them a boost with the Force, but Eval would notice it immediately.

"I'm—trying!" the squat Phindian coughed out.

Turning back to face the wharf, Anakin almost laughed at what he saw waiting there. The _Twilight_ was docked in one of the ports, dented and rusted to all shit. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka's visit here was _definitely_ not sanctioned, then—otherwise they would've used a ship from the Republic fleet. He'd preen about that later.

"That one!" He called for Bane, pointing to the run-down freighter. For once, the man didn't question him, and pivoted towards it as he climbed the last few steps of the ramp up to the wharf. Eval was breathing hard, more or less being dragged by Anakin rather than running under his own steam.

"Hardeen!"

Anakin looked back. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were racing towards them, and at a far faster pace than he could set with Eval weighing him down. Shoving the man up to the top of the ramp, he unholstered his blaster.

"Get to the ship!" he barked. "I'll hold them off."

He could hear the engines of the _Twilight_ sputter to life as Bane coaxed the thing awake. He'd have to make quick work of this distraction—they wouldn't wait around for him to dally with Jedi.

Anakin aimed a lazy shot in their direction. It went too wide to need deflecting, but he'd aimed for their feet, and it did slow them a little.

Having disrobed in the bar, he could see both of their faces now as they skidded to the bottom of the ramp—tight from exertion, but full of joy. He wanted to smile back. Instead he yelled, "fuck off!", and threw in another few blaster rounds for good measure, backing up the ramp as he did so. They were flicked away carelessly by their sabers.

Ahsoka assumed an offensive stance that he knew meant she was about to jump. They couldn't stall much longer without it looking like they were letting him get away.

_SHOOT,_ barked Obi-Wan silently, standing at the ready. Seeing the opening on his left, Anakin realised what he was asking.

Anakin hesitated for a moment, winced, then aimed for Obi-Wan's shoulder and pulled the trigger.

It flew just under the length of his blade and struck true. Lingering only long enough to see Obi-Wan cry out and fall back to the ground, Anakin dashed down the dock and towards the _Twilight._ It still wasn't in the air, but he suspected that had more to do with its ancient controls than Bane's patience.

"Obi-Wan!"

His gut turned at Ahsoka's frantic call. It was the same panic he'd heard in her voice weeks ago, when he'd fallen from the building on Coruscant.

_Focus._

The ship's gangplank was struggling to fold up, buying him enough time to dive into the cargo hold. The freighter's walls shuddered around him.

"He's in!" Eval called from the cockpit.

"Great," he heard Bane reply, much less enthusiastically.

Scrambling to his feet, he felt the ship finally pull upwards. Making his way to the cockpit on unsteady feet, Anakin let out an explosive breath. There were only two seats, so he leaned against the control bench next to the door.

"I shot one of them," he gasped, trying to sound pleased about it.

"Are they dead?" Bane asked.

"Probably not," he muttered, wiping at his face. "Jedi are extremely hard to kill."

. . .

This could not be happening to her again.

"Obi-Wan!" Ahsoka shook him, heart beating so hard her words stuttered. "You _cannot_ die! Get up!"

The round had gone right through him, leaving a clean, singed hole in his left shoulder. The bolt had been hot and fast enough to instantly cauterise most of the wound, but he was still incapacitated. She patted down the embers smouldering around his robes, uncaring that they burned her hand.

"I'm awake," he groaned, grabbing her arm to still her with his good hand. "Ugh. That's always so unpleasant..."

"Unpleasant," she echoed in a mutter. "Unpleasant! I really hate you sometimes. How could he _do_ this?"

Her brain was working overtime. Everything had happened so fast. Anakin was alive, now Obi-Wan was shot. Fives was right. They all needed a vacation.

"I told him to shoot me," he croaked, and sat up with her help. Blinking, Obi-Wan looked up at the wharf. "He stole our ship, didn't he?" His voice was full of pride.

"It's technically his," she replied, and looked in the direction they'd come from. People were approaching, and they were not friendly. "We gotta go."

"Yes. Help me stand."

"You were right," she groaned as she slung his good arm over her shoulders and pulled him to his feet. "This was a terrible plan."

"We'll discuss that later. In the meantime, I can pay some poor sop for their ship if you hold off whoever is coming to kill us," Obi-Wan told her as she began to walk them up the ramp.

"So like usual," she replied, making him laugh, but Ahsoka wasn't done. "You're really no different from Anakin, you know that?"

"Perhaps," he allowed. "But I most certainly have better manners. I can't believe he swore at us."

Ahsoka was denied her outrage at his ridiculous grievance, because she had to throw Obi-Wan to the stairs to deflect an incoming bolt with her saber. One of the local security guards had come within firing range, and was intending to take full advantage of that.

"Fuck off!" she screamed at him, mostly to piss off Obi-Wan, and glared back at him. "Go pay the—the guy! Whoever!"

He was grinning, damn him. "Yes sir."

. . .

Cody didn't ask for a lot. His men weren't to use his personal comm during leave unless someone had died or gone missing; paper trails were to flow up the proper chains of command to avoid unnecessarily long threads about whose job it was to handle equipment requisitions or transfer orders; and General Kenobi was supposed to do his best to keep himself alive. On a good day, he'd get maybe one of those things, and it was anybody's guess as to which one that would be.

Standing at the northern docks with no other guard—as instructed by a frantic Ahsoka—Cody quickly learned that today was most certainly not a good day.

He watched a ship that was not the _Twilight_ pull into port, and from its descending ramp came Ahsoka and Obi-Wan, the latter of whom was supported heavily with an arm slung over Ahsoka's shoulders. When he saw the singe mark on the general's robes and the blood that had blotted beneath it, Cody hurried forward.

"Commander!" Ahsoka called. "Take your— _General,"_ she said with disdain, and handed Kenobi off to Cody. "While I figure out a path to the infirmary that doesn't involve every Jedi in the Temple figuring out what happened."

"He's your general now, too," Cody reminded her, shifting Kenobi's weight to ease the strain on his arm. He saw that she'd patched him up on the ship, but he was still weak on his feet. "What exactly did happen?"

"I was shot," Kenobi said unhelpfully, and sounded no more than mildly irritated over the matter. He looked up at him with a smile. "It's good to see you, Cody."

"Wish I could say the same, sir," he muttered, leading them back to the Temple.

Alternating between frowning at her wrist and admonishing Obi-Wan, Ahsoka led them through several unused hallways in the lower levels of the Temple. Cody thought about asking why they didn't just go straight to the infirmary, given the alacrity at which gossip tended to fly amongst Jedi, then thought better of it. Good sense was ill to be found when it came to Kenobi.

Despite their tip-toeing, they arrived at Master Vokara Che's facility in good time. The general seemed stable, at least, if unsteady. Peeking behind Kenobi's shoulder, he could see the bolt had exited his body. It was rare that plasma fire didn't, but he'd seen cases of it bouncing around inside a person before. Those were all but certain deaths

"Master Kenobi!" Che exclaimed, bursting from her office. "What have you done to your—"

He held out a hand, indicating that he wished for her to lower her voice. "I ask for your discretion, Master, until I'm—"

" _Discretion?"_ she thundered, eyes boring into him. "What's discrete about a bolt to the shoulder, hm? Did that somehow escape your razor-sharp senses?"

Cody kept a straight face as he passed the general off to the woman. Ahsoka seemed to be struggling between laughter and worry, and her smile didn't win out until Kenobi disappeared into the infirmary with a very hostile Vokara.

"Thanks for the help," she said, looking up at him.

He shrugged. "I'm used to it."

"Yeah," she sighed. "I guess you are."

Cody hesitated. He knew Ahsoka, but not well, and wondered how much to say to her. "I'm glad to have you around for this now," he eventually said. "Maybe it'll temper him a little."

She gave him a look. "I doubt it. Actually—" Ahsoka looked around. "Let's go to his office. We need to chat."

Indeed they did.

It was a quick trip up to the general's office. Ahsoka slammed the door shut with all the patience of someone who'd been in Obi-Wan's company for more than half an hour, and then slumped back against it with a resigned noise low in her throat.

"Okay," she said slowly, fingers steepled across her brow. "Sit down, I guess."

Cody pulled two chairs to the front of the room and sat down in one, offering her the other. Ahsoka didn't take it, maintaining her post at the door.

"First," she began, "I'm assuming people have been looking for us. Have you gotten in any trouble?"

"A decent amount, yes," he replied, and Ahsoka straightened, surprised by his answer. He smiled back at her. "It's not the first time."

"You know he complains about Anakin being reckless, but he's no different." Her mouth twisted, as if considering how much further she should engage in gossip about her new Master. "Are you… alright?" she asked then.

"I'm fine," he assured her. "The general didn't tell me anything about where you were going or why, so it wasn't hard to cover for you. Master Yoda was upset, but not at me."

Ahsoka's chest heaved with a sigh. "That's good. Sort of."

"Can I ask where you went now, at least?"

At that, her mouth pulled up into a smile. He'd noticed how cheerful Kenobi had been the last time they'd spoken, but he hadn't risked asking why for fear it would dash away the general's good mood. But now Ahsoka shared the same beaming expression, and it wasn't hard to connect the dots.

"We went to check on, uh, Hardeen," she said, eyes darting to the floor.

Cody raised a brow. "I'm assuming General Skywalker is with him? Or perhaps Hardeen told you where he was?"

Ahsoka balked at that. "Why would you think that? Okay," she conceded, seeing his expression. "I guess it's kind of obvious. But you can't tell Rex."

Cody sobered at that. "That's a heavy ask."

It was rare he had the chance to spend time with Rex at all, but they'd both been seeing a lot of each other ever since Skywalker's funeral. The circumstances were too grim for Cody to take much pleasure in the company of his brother, and to be able to relieve that burden… it was a lot to hold back on.

"I know." She pushed away from the door then, grabbing the back of the seat Cody had set out for her. "But none of us are supposed to know this either. The less people are aware, the better. It could blow Anakin's cover."

Cody frowned. "He's undercover?"

"Uh." Ahsoka stalled. "Forget I said that. You don't know anything. Anakin is still—still dead, as far as any of us are concerned."

"Right." Cody smoothed a hand over his hair. "I suppose that means you won't be transferring to the 212th, then."

She looked like she was struggling to contain her excitement. "Yeah," she murmured, all too happy about the prospect. "It's nothing personal," she added hurriedly. "You're—I like you, and Obi-Wan, I just—"

"You don't have to explain anything, kid," he interrupted her. "Rex will be pleased."

She nodded enthusiastically. "He's great."

"The two of you need to do a better job of looking sullen, though," Cody told her then, thinking again of his brother. "No one's buying your act right now. Rex won't, either."

She nodded again, and he watched her struggle to pull the grin off her face. "Depressed and distant," she murmured, mostly to herself. "Right."

"And tell Kenobi to stop smiling," Cody added. "All of Coruscant can see it."

. . .

"What to say for yourself, do you have, Obi-Wan?"

His seat in the Council chambers was empty. Instead, he stood in the centre, both the focus of conversation—and Master Yoda's ire, which was considerable.

"Not a lot," he replied, smiling weakly. His shoulder burned. "I acted impulsively."

"Selfishly," Master Yoda added—or perhaps corrected. "Multiple times, I told you to leave this alone."

"I didn't—" He swallowed down the rest of his sentence, closed his eyes, and tried again. "I had to see if he was alive."

After extensive berating from Master Vokara about his careless behaviour, he'd received a very short, very urgent call. There was an emergency Council meeting being held, and his attendance was mandatory. It wasn't exactly how he'd envisioned returning to the Council, but as he'd said to Padmé—where Anakin was concerned, nothing was predictable.

"No, you wanted," Yoda said harshly. "There was no need to find him."

"We should have told you sooner," Mace cut in, and Obi-Wan looked to him. "We should have told the entire Council. But this deception wasn't decided on lightly."

Fury bubbled to the surface. "Why was I not part of this plan from the beginning?" he demanded, looking at Yoda. "I would've been far more help—"

"Your reaction sold Anakin's death, as did Ahsoka's," Mace explained. "It was critical we kept that hidden from you both, as well as everyone else. There are Sith involved in this plot—they would have known something was amiss."

"Still find this out, they may, because of your actions," Yoda added.

"So we play with the emotions of children, now?" Obi-Wan felt his hands begin to shake. "I was making plans to become her new Master, to transfer her to my legion! This has consequences beyond ourselves! Ahsoka has—"

"Handling it better than you, Ahsoka has been," Master Yoda said quietly.

He clenched his teeth. Looking around to the other members, he saw equal parts sympathy and disappointment. It made him feel like a child again, but he couldn't help himself. "Why Anakin? Why—" _Why not me?_ "He's untested with this level of—of subterfuge, I don't underst—"

"Understand our plans, you need not," Yoda interrupted him again. "Your trust is all we need. Proven, you have, that it is more tenuous than we thought."

Obi-Wan flinched at the barb. There were more eyes on him than he could meet at one time. It wasn't the first time he'd been admonished by the Council, but their past concerns had usually been focused on his handling of Anakin's behaviour, not his own. There was nothing to hide behind now except his own grief, and that curtain had long since worn out its welcome.

"The Chancellor personally requested Anakin lead the mission," Mace explained, more gently. "And he was eager to prove himself to the Council. As you once were, years ago," Mace reminded him, smiling slightly.

"I could've—I could've gone in his place," he said, trying desperately to get a handle on himself. He could feel nudges of warmth from Plo, from Depa, but they only made him feel more ragged.

"Apparently not, if this is how you act," Master Yoda said calmly. "Disappointed we are in you, Obi-Wan."

His hands balled into fists at his sides. He bowed his head. "Of course," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Any further interference will only hurt Anakin's mission," Mace said. "You have to trust him."

"I do," Obi-Wan insisted, exhaling. "I do trust him. But if he needs our help—"

"Send someone not so compromised, we will," Yoda informed him.

"Right." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'd like to speak with Ahsoka about this, if possible. She deserves the truth."

"Know the truth, she already does." Yoda's gnarled hands gripped his walking stick tightly. "Warn her not to do anything rash."

_Like you have_ was left unsaid, but Obi-Wan heard it clearly. "I will."

"Good. Discuss your continued tenure on the Council, we shall do later. Dismissed for now, you are."

His breath lodged in his throat. "Are you saying I'm under revision?"

"That is putting it lightly." Yoda's eyes were piercing, cutting straight through him. "Leave, now."

Saving himself by keeping silent, he only bowed before turning to leave, careful not to meet anyone's eyes.

He only made it far enough out of the Council chambers to find a bench nearby, and slumped heavily down onto it. Holding his head in one of his hands, he tried to calm down. He _needed_ to calm down.

His heart continued to race. He should feel elated, and part of him still did. Anakin was alive—the hole in his chest that made breathing impossible would heal over and fade away. Had this entire thing been a test? For him and Ahsoka, as well as for Anakin? He'd failed miserably if so.

Obi-Wan made himself as inconspicuous as possible. The Council adjourned shortly after his departure, and he watched the members file out. A few shot him sympathetic looks, but most moved on without comment.

Except Depa. She lingered around the hall, waiting for the others to leave, and then approached him.

"How's time-out treating you?" she asked, sitting down on the bench next to Obi-Wan.

He huffed out a breath. "I'll survive. I hope."

"You get used to it," she said, her mouth quirking.

He looked up, frowning at her. "You are an invaluable member of the Council, Depa," he said seriously. It only made her laugh.

"I know exactly what I am," she replied easily. A hand settled on his knee, a nudge of warmth following it. "And I wasn't the Council golden boy before I fell from good graces, either." Depa glanced back at the Council chamber doors, now closed shut. "You never did take being told off well."

"I'm not handling a lot of things well," he murmured, but he smiled at her. "But your support means a great deal to me."

She waved a hand. "These are just words. I've done nothing for you."

He rolled his eyes. "Just take the compliment."

Depa raised a brow, but bowed her head to him. "Then I thank you, Master Kenobi."

He covered her hand with his own. His stomach still roiled, his head still spun. For the past few weeks, he'd felt nothing but nauseous.

"For what it's worth, I agree with you." Depa's lips pursed. "If the Council made such plans for my own Padawan without telling me… well, I'd probably be on trial right now."

"That's just it. Anakin isn't my Padawan anymore." He watched the sunlight flicker through the vaulted windows, filtering through the sparse clouds in the sky. "He's a grown man, now."

"Ah, but they never stop being your Padawan, not really." She smoothed a thumb over his knee, mouth twitching. "How's your shoulder, by the way?"

He rolled his eyes. "It'll heal. I've had worse."

She shook her head. "You've run quite the gauntlet."

"That seems to be the way of things," he replied, resigned. It made her laugh again.

They sat quietly then, for a moment. He hadn't had time to just sit and think. To be sure, he'd done a lot of that in the past few weeks, but none of it had been pleasant. It had taken everything in him and then some just to pass each day by. Now his body trembled with the need to do _something._ He needed to meditate, he decided.

"I know how difficult it can be," Depa murmured, pulling his attention back to her. "To regain your balance after a terrible loss. But you should rejoice now. Anakin is alive, and you will see him again soon."

He laughed. It came out on the heels of a sob, and he pressed a hand to his mouth. "I will, won't I?" he whispered into his palm, and felt a tremor go through him. He would see Anakin again.

"So behave yourself in the meantime," she continued, smiling. "And mind your own business. I know how difficult that can be for—"

"Masters?"

They both looked up. Ahsoka stood there, with Depa's boy Caleb shyly in tow. He was frowning deeply at the sight of the two Jedi, and Obi-Wan quickly wiped at his face.

"Is everything okay?" Caleb asked, ever full of questions. "We didn't want to interrupt, but…."

Obi-Wan smiled at him. "Quite alright," he assured him. "Apologies for holding up your Master." He patted Depa's hand, still on his knee, and nodded to her. "Thank you," he said quietly, and she stood up with a smile.

"Anytime, Master Kenobi." She turned to Caleb then. "Do you have any advice for Obi-Wan, about healing from blaster wounds?"

The boy flushed, his eyes twitching between the two Jedi. "Um. Get used to cold showers for a while," he blurted, making them both laugh. That only seemed to embarrass him further.

"I shall take your advice to heart," Obi-Wan promised the boy, who bowed, unsure of what else to do.

"I won't torture any of you further," Depa said then, mostly for her Padawan's benefit. Heading for the doors, she held out a hand for Caleb, who flocked quickly to her side. As she led them away, he saw the boy look back several times, intensely curious and clearly disappointed he hadn't learned what happened. He didn't envy Depa the task of curbing her Padawan's endless appetite for information.

Obi-Wan looked away from them, and found Ahsoka. She was standing several paces away, haloed by the sun streaming through the windows, smiling faintly.

"How'd it go?" she asked.

"About as well as it could have," he replied. "I'm not expelled, at least."

Ahsoka didn't say anything else. Instead she walked over to the bench, sat down, and hugged him tightly.

. . .

"Isn't this a little overkill?" Padmé asked, watching the two Jedi stalk around the balcony. "You're supposed to be protecting the Chancellor, right? I mean I'm grateful, but…." She trailed off, looking around at the other attendees who'd been placed under their security. Queen Neeyutnee, along with a handful of Republic Senators, all filled the antechamber, mingling amicably. Only Bail seemed to be paying any attention to their conversation, and sidled closer to listen better.

Ahsoka shrugged, stopping at the far end of the tiled terrace and pulling out a pair of binoculars. "Sorta," she said, leaning on the railing. "But he's on probation, so we're stuck together."

Her thumb jerked in Obi-Wan's direction, who looked deeply unimpressed with Ahsoka's summary of the situation. "The Chancellor's safety isn't the only concern of the evening," he replied, far more diplomatically. He stood at the other end of the balcony, focused and alert. "We're here to ensure no other Republic officials are caught in the mix-up."

Padmé turned away to hide her smile. Their banter had been sorely missed, even in such extraordinary circumstances. Given Obi-Wan's sudden injury and change in demeanour—along with whatever conflict he was currently engaged in with the Jedi Council—she couldn't help but conclude that he'd figured out what was going on. Likewise, Ahsoka's return to her usual upbeat self meant he'd either told her, or she'd discovered it alongside him.

Either way, she was overjoyed. The less lying she had to do, the better. But first they had to get through the evening, and that was hours away yet.

"They've got the ray shield set up," Ahsoka reported. She let the binoculars hang around her neck and brought up her headset. "We're in position, Master Windu. All the dips plus the queen are accounted for here."

"Tell him we're moving the party outdoors in ten minutes," Obi-Wan told her.

She raised a brow. "Is your ear dot broken or something?"

"No," he replied slowly, "but he'll take it better coming from you."

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say, Master."

"They're having fun," Bail murmured, now beside her. Padmé looked up, her mouth twitching. Apparently their mood hadn't escaped his notice, either.

"Nothing like foiling an assassination attempt to bring the family together," she replied.

Bail pursed his lips, watching them on the balcony for another moment. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" he asked then.

"I really wish people would stop asking me that question."

"Purely personal curiosity," Bail said easily, not deterred by her unamused tone. "No selfless motives, I swear."

She raised a brow. "At least you're honest."

"Perhaps I'll rephrase, then." He took her arm and walked her further away from the balcony, out of earshot, and then looked down at her again. "Did your talk with the esteemed General do that?"

She let out a sigh, but she was smiling. "No," she said honestly. "He mostly just slept on my couch and drank my tea when he was over. He was pretty embarrassed about the whole thing. So please keep that to yourself," she added, nudging his arm.

"Senator's honour," he swore, palm to his chest. "I'm no stranger to saving Kenobi's dignity, anyway."

"No," she mused dryly. "I don't suppose you are."

"Seven minutes," called Ahsoka, and walked away from the balcony into the antechamber. "Festival is about to start. Be alert, but—" Her head bobbed. "You know, have fun and all that."

Padmé smiled at the girl. It was easy to forget sometimes how young she was. "I plan on it," she said, making Ahsoka smile. It felt good to see her happy again.

"Good. Hopefully everything doesn't go _too_ wrong."

. . .

"Get down!"

The question of why the Chancellor hadn't just cancelled his attendance and rescheduled was far too late to be asked, but it still rattled around Obi-Wan's head as he deflected a spray of fire from across the plaza. There was no time to apologise to Naboo's queen for throwing her bodily to the ground, but he still took a knee in front of her and felt behind him. His hand found her wrist as he watched Master Shaak Ti behead one of the disguised guards and kick his body off the edge of the plaza.

"We must go," he said over his shoulder, feeling her grab onto his arm and pull herself up. It was his injured side, making him hiss through clenched teeth, but he stood them both up and began to walk back towards the palace. With a flick of his finger he activated the communication dot in his ear. "Ahsoka—"

" _Busy!"_ came the sharp report, and more blaster fire crackled through the comm. " _I've got the dips, you escort the queen."_

"Right." Walking backwards, he led them towards the palace doors, lightsaber at the ready, but there was almost no need. The Chancellor was no longer here—he'd been whisked away by Bane and Eval, tailed by Mace and Plo. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka's job was to clean up this side-show now and ensure no secondary attacks precipitated in the chaos.

In short, it was mostly busywork, a downgrade in responsibility that wounded his pride.

"Master Kenobi?"

He glanced back at the queen. Perhaps he was being too harsh. Either way, he'd nurse his ego later. "Inside, my lady," he said, and turned to pull open the door. Keeping her close, he glanced into the palace, and pulled her indoors when he found no assailants.

"We meet with the others in the cellars, yes?" she asked. Her calm, even tone impressed him, though given Naboo's even recent history, he supposed this sort of trauma was standard fair for their dignitaries by now.

"Yes," he confirmed, and hung right, keeping close to the outer wall. She followed behind him silently, holding onto her skirts to keep her feet clear.

He suppressed the thrill that ran through him as he guided them towards the southern stairwells. Aside from their stint on Nal Hutta, he hadn't been in a fight in weeks, and it surprised him how much he'd missed it. Perhaps that had something to do with the fact that Anakin was here, and this meant the mission was coming to a close, but—

"Wait." He skidded to a stop, holding out a hand to keep her back.

"What is it?"

He closed his eyes and felt forward. A boil of dark intent was near—intense, but undisciplined, their register clear and open to anyone with the ability to listen. One of the other hunters hired for this job. They weren't supposed to be here.

And they wouldn't be, in a moment.

"Stay here," he whispered, "and keep low. I'll be right back."

Her eyes widened in fear, but she nodded, crouching low against the wall and clutching the small blaster she'd retrieved from her skirts. It reminded him of Satine's deactivator.

_Focus!_

Creeping forward, he unlit his saber and crouched at the corner of the hallway, peering around the giant marble column. They'd come up to the entrance of one of the dining halls—the room just before the stairwell. The doors to the hall had been flung open, and inside he saw one of the hunters raiding a silverware cabinet, frantically loading its contents into a duffle bag.

He frowned. Anakin had emphasised in his last communiqué to the Council that Dooku was paying all of them very well for this job. While Naboo's finest dinner plates weren't anything to scoff at, they were a small bonus for a very large diversion from the team's intended plan.

Obi-Wan listened. The hunter was disguised as one of the guards, but their voice hissed when they spoke.

"He's late!" they barked, likely speaking to someone over a headset. "They're always late. Can't trust Sith."

Still crouched, Obi-Wan raised a hand. Finding purchase in the air around the massive cabinet, he brought his hand down in a fist, and it toppled over with a creak of wood. The hunter screamed, but the Force-accelerated piece of furniture was too fast to outrun, and their cry cut off in a spray of splintering wood.

He listened again, feeling for their pulse in the air. None registered.

Looking back over his shoulder, Obi-Wan waved the queen forward. Shuffling in an awkward half-crouch, she ran to his side, peering over his shoulder into the dining hall.

"They're dead?" she asked in a whisper.

"Yes. Though apologies about the cabinet," he murmured, pulling them both up.

"I hated that thing anyway."

From there it was a short trip down into the cellar. Ahsoka was there to unlock the door for them and let them in, and she quickly barricaded it behind them.

"Any problems?" she asked as Obi-Wan guided the queen over to sit with the other diplomats, beside the racks of the massive wine barrels. Neeyutnee gave him a grateful smile.

"Just one," he murmured, walking back over to Ahsoka and nursing his shoulder with massaging fingers. "I overheard one of the hunters. I think Dooku is late to show."

Ahsoka frowned, then craned her neck towards the group of diplomats and did a quick headcount with a wiggle of her finger. "Well, everyone is accounted for now," she said, blowing out a breath. "We just have to wait until they give the all-clear up top."

"Yes," he muttered, mostly to himself as he scanned their corner of the cellar. He easily picked out Padmé and Bail in the mix, looking a little shaken and dusty but otherwise fine. No one had even been hurt. As plans went, theirs had gone swimmingly.

"What is it?" Ahsoka asked.

He glanced up. "What's what?"

"I know that tone."

His mouth quirked. "There could be trouble on their end of things." He avoided saying Anakin's name for the time being, but Ahsoka easily caught on.

"With Dooku being late, you mean?"

His jaw clenched. "Yes. I'd like to go check it out—"

"That's not our job," Ahsoka interrupted him.

"You'll stay here with the diplomats," he assured her. "But they may need back up."

Anakin wouldn't have his lightsaber. Given how the night had cascaded into chaos, neither Plo nor Mace had it on them, unable to anticipate where Anakin would be. And while he could certainly handle himself in a fight, without his saber—

"And they'll call for someone if they do," Ahsoka assured him back, forcing him out of his thoughts. "But it won't be us."

He looked away from her. He knew that tone, too. It was the one he'd used on her and Anakin when they did something rash. It stung, precisely because she was right.

"Obi-Wan?"

"You're right," he said, looking back to her. "I'll just… run up, then, and retrieve the hunter's comm. We can listen for—"

" _We,"_ she said, very clearly, "can sit and wait for further orders."

He smiled at her as she guided him to sit down on a crate, rummaging in her utility pouch for some bacta spray for his shoulder. He was still rubbing at it. He could feel her focus, sharp and neatly bounded. She was strong, and sure. A true master of her emotions.

Obi-Wan watched her twist open the nozzle on the spray, frowning in concentration. "Perhaps I should be wearing your Padawan beads," he murmured.

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic," she said back, brushing his hand away and pulling back his robes down his left arm. "You're just excited. I am, too," she added with a smile. "I get first dibs on a hug when we see him."

He felt eyes on them, and glanced up to see Padmé watching them talk. She was smiling as well.

"Deal," he said quietly.

. . .

"You really do talk way too much," Anakin muttered.

"Fuck you, Skywalker," Bane spat, his name coming out like a foul curse. He struggled against his bonds, lips pulled back in a snarl, but he couldn't do much more than glower on the transport bench. Eval was passed out beside him, and jostled dumbly at Bane's wriggling.

Anakin gave him the finger with a grin. Bane snarled.

"Don't antagonise him," Mace counselled beside him, and Anakin turned with a raised brow.

"Is that the thanks I get for all this?" He gestured at his face. "Do you have any idea what it's like being this ugly for a month?"

The man's mouth quirked, and after a moment, he gave a shallow bow. "My apologies," Master Windu said. "You've gone above and beyond. The Council couldn't be more pleased with your work."

"That's what I like to hear." Anakin felt at his throat then, coughing. "If you'll excuse me for a moment."

The only way to get the voice modulator out of his throat was to cough it up. Pulling off his glove and turning away from the occupants of the transport, he stuck a finger far down into his mouth. Doubling over, he gagged until the tiny device was spat up into his hand. His mouth twisted as he tasted acid in the back of his throat.

"Ugh," he groaned, and finally heard his own voice. It was like music to his ears. "That sucks." Wiping at his mouth with a sleeve, he turned back to Plo and Mace. "What do I do with—ugh, with this thing?"

"Destroy it, I suppose," Master Plo said. "They aren't reusable. Not that anyone would want to reuse them."

Anakin nodded and grabbed one of the transport doors, pulling it open just enough to toss out the device before yanking it closed and wiping his hand on his pants.

"Too bad we didn't get Dooku," he murmured, sitting down on the opposite bench. The Count had been late, almost to the point that the kidnapping had seemed like a wash, but he'd finally made an appearance. Apparently even Sith couldn't keep a schedule. But against three Jedi—even one without a lightsaber—he'd met his match, and quickly backed down to screw off to whatever posh hovel he was calling home these days

Bane cackled from his seat.

"Yeah, you guys suck," the hunter chimed in. Remembering Mace's earlier admonishing, Anakin settled for simply rolling his eyes.

"Can't we gag him?"

"We're not far now," Mace said neutrally. That was Jedi for "no."

Anakin slumped into his seat, letting his legs splay out in front of him. With a grin, he remembered the question he'd been burning to ask ever since Nal Hutta.

Well, ever since his own funeral. But especially since Nal Hutta.

"So," he drawled, "I heard I was sorely missed."

"You were," Plo replied. "Ahsoka will be overjoyed at your return."

He beamed at that. He'd missed her terribly, and couldn't wait for her to yell at him about his stupid, reckless, ridiculous plan to smuggle himself into prison.

"And I guess I'll have to buy Rex a beer," Anakin murmured after a moment, nodding. "What about Obi-Wan?"

"What _about_ Obi-Wan?" Mace asked.

"He seemed pretty cut up."

Master Windu's mouth twitched. "You'll see."

Anakin rolled his eyes. He should know better by now than to expect an open and honest conversation with them, especially about anything emotional.

Sighing, he instead looked towards the cockpit. The Chancellor was in the passenger seat, strapped in and nursing a few bruises but otherwise fine. He should probably go talk to him, make sure he was alright, but he couldn't stop thinking about Ahsoka. About Obi-Wan. About their bright, beaming faces at the wharf on Nal Hutta. He couldn't wait to see them.

. . .

He fell asleep on the ride back, but jerked awake when the transport landed in the dock by Naboo's Royal Palace. By now it was early dawn, the sky bleeding a promising grey that quickly overtook the night sky. He couldn't wait to go back to Coruscant, reunite with everyone, and then sleep for three days.

For now, Anakin settled for hopping out of the transport and stretching his back. Plo dealt with the Chancellor while Mace handled Bane and Eval, pulling them down onto the tarmac and handing them off to the awaiting security forces there. He should probably hang back and help them, but he walked out of the shadow of the dropship instead, and a grin spread across his face.

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan stood several metres away, watching the transport unload. Despite his excitement at seeing them again, he'd expected—well, he didn't know what he'd expected. Judgement, maybe. Anger and betrayal. Disappointment, even. But as their eyes landed on him, all he felt was love. The air throbbed with it, arcing off their bodies in great big loops that sliced the sky.

"Hey, Snips," he called, walking forward. "You miss me?"

Ahsoka's whole body was trembling. Tears shone in her eyes and ran down her cheeks, dotting her shirt. Her hands fisted by her sides, immobilised by her own relief. Grinning, Anakin held out his arms for her.

"Come here."

That was all the invitation she needed. Clearing the distance between them in seconds, she barrelled into his chest, hard enough to knock them down onto the pavement. Her breath exploded out of her in wrenching sobs, her hands fisting in his clothes.

"You—you're—you're—"

"I'm alive," he whispered, and she sobbed anew, face buried in his chest, her body shuddering as she forced out more tears. His own eyes burned as he held her close, hugging her tight. "It's okay, it's okay."

"Stupid," she croaked, and sat up enough to shake him. Her hands clutched at his collar, and her face was cast in shadow as she sat over him. "Stupid, stupid, stupid—"

"I wanted to tell you," he said. "I wanted to tell you so bad, but—I couldn't, I—"

"Shut up," she breathed, hiccuping. "Anakin, you're alive—"

He laughed then and pulled her back down, pressing his face into her head, her beads making indents on his cheek, holding her as another wave of sobs wracked through her. He knew she'd missed him, but even this took him aback. She was really losing it.

"You look—" She gasped, trying to breathe around her tears. "So ugly—"

Anakin grinned. "I know. Not for long, though. I'll change back when we're on Coruscant."

She nodded, and he sat them up, letting her get a hold of herself. Ahsoka scrubbed at her face furiously, as if annoyed by her own tears, and stared up at him, sniffling.

"I'm just glad that… that you're okay," she said, hand still tight around his arm, as if she were afraid he'd disappear if she lost her grip.

"I'm okay," he assured her, then frowned in concern. She looked shaken—and _was_ shaking, still. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Well, no!" She closed her eyes and tried to get her breathing under control, hiccuping some more. "I thought you were dead, you sleemo."

"Yeah, that must've sucked."

She shook her head, eyes still closed. "I don't even know what to say to that."

"I say," he began, getting to his feet and pulling her up with him. "That we go home."

She nodded, smiling up at him. "Sounds like a plan. But first you gotta talk to Obi-Wan. He's been waiting patiently to give you a hug."

Anakin looked up at that. A few diplomats had congregated around the transport, mostly to greet the Chancellor and confirm he was alright. He saw Padmé in the crowd, which made his heart clench, but his eyes drew back to his old Master. He was walking towards them, far more calmly and evenly than Ahsoka's frantic sprinting, but Anakin saw tears in his eyes, too.

Stepping away from her, he gave Obi-Wan a smile. "You look like you've aged ten years," he said in greeting, and to his surprise, he watched Obi-Wan cover his mouth with a hand to hold back a choked laugh.

"I have," he rasped, and then pulled him into a hug.

Anakin's ribs creaked from the strain, but he buried his face in his Master's hair, feeling him shake with relief. Between the three of them, the air was so thick with joy that it was hard to breathe.

"Anakin—" Obi-Wan pulled back, pressing a hand against Anakin's cheek, his throat working in a swallow. "I'm so proud of you."

His vision blurred, and a shudder went through him. "Thanks," he rasped, and wiped at his face, looking away. "I guess… I guess you guys missed me."

"You'll never know how much," Obi-Wan whispered, unable to finish his sentence. He looked away, too.

Anakin chewed his lip. There was so much he wanted to say, _needed_ to say, but his throat had closed up, and Obi-Wan was doing his best to pretend that neither of them were crying.

Ahsoka appeared beside them then, a hand on each of their arms. She smiled through her tears. "Let me in," she insisted, and Obi-Wan opened an arm to pull her between them.

Abusing his considerable height over both of them, Anakin bowed and hugged them both close, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt whole.

. . .

He really should have Cody around for this report. Part of him felt guilty for how out of depth he was with paperwork right now, as he had been for the past month. There was a bottle of barrel-aged varos tihaar wrapped and sitting on his desk that he still needed to give the commander. He should probably buy several extra for the rest of Ghost Company for good measure. They'd bore the brunt of his aggrieved absence.

Obi-Wan was still mulling what other reparations to make when the Temple's galley doors clattered open. Admitting Ahsoka and Anakin, with a very hungover Rex slung between them, they shuffled into the mess.

He frowned down at his chrono and looked back up at them. "It's too early for you two to be awake," he said, watching them deposit Rex into a chair. He groaned and laid his head in his arms on the table.

"Shh," Anakin said, and rubbed at his head. "Is there caf?"

"I only made tea," Obi-Wan replied, and Anakin grumbled as he walked over to the kitchenette.

Amused, he glanced back at Ahsoka. Out of the three of them, she seemed the least incapacitated. "Good morning."

She levelled an annoyed look his way. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Sound so smug," she told him, rubbing at her eyes. "Ugh. Why do people drink? This sucks."

Rex grumbled in agreement, voice muffled in the circle of his arms. Obi-Wan nudged a sympathetic pulse his way. "Are you alright, Captain?"

"Almost wish Skywalker stayed dead," he groaned, pulling his head up enough to cup his face into a hand, frowning at the early morning light streaming into the galley. "I can't remember the last time I got that drunk."

"Last month," Anakin chimed in as he readied one of the percolators, dumping far too many grounds into the filter for the caf to possibly taste any good. "After Umbara."

"Great."

Ahsoka laid a hand on Rex's arm and spoke to him in low tones. Leaving them to nurse each other, Obi-Wan stood up from his seat and wandered over to where Anakin was making a mess in the kitchen. By the way he kept staring longingly at the fridge, there was a good chance he wanted a fresh breakfast without having to make it.

Obi-Wan leaned on the counter. "Are you alright?"

"I will pay you," Anakin said slowly, massaging his temples. "A million credits if you make eggs."

"I'll see what I can do," he replied dryly. "I'm glad you had a fun night, at least."

"You shoulda joined us," Anakin said, settling back against the island counter. "It was great."

"This was your homecoming," he murmured, looking over to Rex and Ahsoka. "I didn't want you to hold back on my account."

"Oh trust me, I wouldn't have." Anakin shoved up and went to the cupboards, pulling down a few mugs. "You want some?" he asked, dangling a mug in Obi-Wan's direction.

"No, thank you." He rolled his left shoulder. "Besides which, I had a wonderful ten-hour sleep. The best I've had in weeks."

Anakin's mouth quirked. "Getting in trouble too stressful for you?"

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "I figured you wouldn't let that go easily."

"I won't let it go ever." He frowned impatiently at the percolator. "Maybe I'll take your seat on the Council."

He knew he was joking, but Obi-Wan only shrugged. "At this point it's not out of the realm of possibility."

Anakin looked up at him, sobering suddenly. "You're not expelled from the Council, right?"

He shook his head. "No. My removal has to be a unanimous decision, and there are a few holding out for me. That doesn't mean I haven't smashed all my credibility to pieces, though."

"Well, if you need help with being a major disappointment, let me know," Anakin said, smiling as he poured himself caf.

Obi-Wan set a hand on his arm, making him go still. "You are not a disappointment, Anakin," he said seriously. "If anything, this mission has proven how much of an asset you are to the Order."

He watched Anakin's face flush, but he quickly looked back down at his caf, clearing his throat. "Yeah, well, most of the Council didn't think I was up for it."

"Most of the Council doesn't think I'm fit to serve, either," Obi-Wan replied. "But I hope that doesn't lower your opinion of me. It certainly doesn't affect mine."

"Oh no," Anakin assured him with a grin, taking up his previous post again on the counter and sipping at his caf. "If anything, I'm more impressed."

"That's troubling, but I'll take it." He ran a hand through his hair. The movement jostled his belt, and he looked down, remembering why he'd come over in the first place. Reaching down, he grabbed Anakin's lightsaber, but didn't offer it yet. "Master Yoda returned this to me this morning."

"You were holding onto it?"

Obi-Wan smiled at him sadly. "I couldn't bear to have it entombed with you."

Struggling to maintain a light, goofy expression, Anakin raised a brow. "You'll run out of desk space soon if you keep collecting sabers."

"I hope that never comes to pass." Flipping the hilt around in his hand, he offered it to Anakin. "But I will return this to you now."

Anakin set down his cup and took it from him. "Thanks." His thumb ran along its length, and then he let the hook find purchase on his belt. "Missed having this handy."

"And welcome home, Anakin," he said quietly, feeling his throat tighten up one more time. Anakin met his eyes. "I'm glad you're back."

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr at [@oriyala](https://oriyala.tumblr.com/)!


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